In my seventeenth year,
I gave an apple to the man
wandering without aim through the park.
I was blessed by another
in a wheelchair I thought was stolen.
His four dark fingers that clutched my five
were blackened by the wintry night.
Years later, I learned there's depth
in every hole
of every coat and shoe,
and each frostbitten finger
is blackened not with cold
but with the soot of indifference.
Chris Gagne is from Grafton, Massachusetts. He is a freshman and majoring in Media Studies. He usually like to pick a topic he cares deeply about, usually arising out of something like politics or ongoing social issues in the country.He'd like to go into something writing-related, perhaps publishing. His dream job would be to write for either The Daily Show or The Colbert Report.