Alycia Steck '25
I could sell my moniker in bottles
For five quarters and a dime, but for you
My name is a gift I slip in your palm.
Each bottle a present to make amends.
Everything I possess is in bottles,
Imprisoned within these crystal borders.
Alycia is spirit, a trickle
Of mirth. I watch you sip these pure, distilled,
Forever obscured liquid syllables.
My name is a medley that once bound me.