Poetry: The fourth estate is media

A heavy stack sits in my hands

but the true burden is elsewhere.

The thin paper is curled at the edges,

a fresh, virgin-white newspaper

not yet yellowed

by time’s cruel curse.

It speaks of the future,

of achieving an age of perfection,

yet I know we will never reach

such a time. It is merely

propaganda perpetuated

by our government.

Black smudges coat

my fingertips

as if I had rifled

through the hearth

briefly before I found

what I was looking for.

The aroma of ink permeates

the air, a familiar smell

that lingers in my nose

like an old tabby cat

on a comfy chair. Tiny print

akin to an elf’s handwriting

takes shape in the form

of long columns

that stretch their spines

and fill the parchment.

Hidden inside the lies

is a universal truth,

encoded between lines.

We must revolt against

this benevolent dictator

as he calls himself.

A heavy stack sits in my heart,

but the true burden is elsewhere.

Maggie primarily writes creative nonfiction and about student life for The Pitt News. Write to her at mmk93@pitt.edu.