The English Department at Western Kentucky University is pleased to announce the 2023-2024 Literature Essay Contest. Students should visit the links on the right to complete an application and submit a 500-750-word piece (MLA style; pdf format) based on the prompt below. The English Department will invite finalists, their teachers, and family to campus for a reception and ceremony on April 20 where they will be recognized.
The winners will receive cash prizes: First Place: $150; Second Place: $100; Third Place: $50.
Application and Essays are due March 23rd, 2024.
The following poem, “Cyrus and The Snakes,” is written by U.S. Poet Laureate, Ada Limón from her most recent book, The Hurting Kind (2022). Read the poem carefully and craft a 500 – 750 word essay of literary analysis.
Prompt: Limón’s poem focuses on a pair of siblings (a brother and sister) that have differing relationships with nature throughout the poem. How does the speaker connect her brother’s youthful experiences to his adult understanding of the relationship of nature and curiosity? Support your reason by using textual evidence to analyze the poem’s form—its sequence of images and episodes, its sounds, its tone, etc.
CYRUS & THE SNAKES
My brother holds a snake by its head. The whole
length of the snake is the length
of my brother’s body. The snake’s head
is held safely, securely, as if my brother
is showing it something in the distant high grass.
I don’t know why he wants to hold them,
Their strong bodies wrapping themselves around
the warmth of his arm. Constricting and made
Of circles and momentum; slippery coolness smooth
against the ground. Still, this image of him,
Holding a snake as it snakes as snakes
do, both a noun and a verb and a story
that doesn’t end well. Once, we stole an egg
from the backyard chicken coop
and cracked it just to see what was inside: a whole
unhatched chick. Where we
expected yolk and mucus was an unfeathered
and unfurled sweetness. We stared at the thing,
dead now and unshelled by curiosity and terrible youth.
My brother pretended not to care so much,
while I cried, though only a little. Still, we buried it
in the brush, by the creeping thistle that tore up
our arms with their speared leaves, barbed
at the ends like weapons struck in the rattlesnake grass.
But I knew, I knew that he’d cry if he was alone,
if he wasn’t a boy in the summer heat being a boy
in the summer heat. Years later, back from Mexico
or South America, he’d admit he was tired
of history, of always discovering the ruin by ruining
it, wrecking a forest for a temple, a temple
that should simply be left a temple. He wanted it
all to stay as it was, even if it went undiscovered.
I want to honor a man who wants to hold a wild thing,
only for a second, long enough to admire it fully,
and then wants to watch it safely return to its life,
bends to be sure the grass closes up behind it.