Michelle Mulé '20 Wins National Gold Medals for her Poems

Michelle Mulé '20 has been writing poetry for a long time and her skills are gaining recognition. Congratulations to Michelle for winning several Scholastic Writing Awards recently for her poetry, both statewide and nationally. Scholastic Art & Writing Awards is the nation's longest-running and most prestigious recognition program for creative teens in grades 7–12.

At the 2018 Connecticut Scholastic Art & Writing Awards competition, Michelle won: two Gold Keys for her poems 'Bees' and 'What's in a Name,' one Silver Key for 'Feathers,' and four Honorable Mentions for 'Soundless,' The Medina in Morocco,' 'A Goat's Milk and Snowfall,' and 'Morocco and Chefchaouen, The Blue City.' Only 10 Gold Medals were awarded in Connecticut, so it's particularly impressive that Michelle won two of them.

Michelle's poems, 'Bees' and 'What's in a Name,' which won regional Gold Keys were then judged against the national pool and Michelle was awarded National Gold Medals for both poems.

Inspired primarily by past travels with her family and utilizing writing and editing skills she has developed with a private poetry teacher and in the King English Department, Michelle writes regularly and then refines the meter and language of her work over time until she is satisfied with the end result.

Established in 1932, the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards recognize students with exceptional artistic and literary talent. The Gold Medals are reserved for the most outstanding works in the nation. Past recipients have included Andy Warhol, Cy Twombly, Truman Capote, Sylvia Plath, Richard Avedon, and Ken Burns among others.

The entire King community is proud of Michelle's passion and success, which has only been fueled by this recognition. "It is so nice to be recognized for my writing. It really encourages me to write even more," Michelle said. "I hope to take more international trips in order to inspire my poetry."

You can savor Michelle's award-winning poems below.


In Morocco, they train their bees,
Resulting in deep barrels
Of Crispy Sweet
In every flavor you can imagine.


In the high alps
With the small
Curves of year-round snow
Peeking over the top of each ledge.

Lavender in the rancid
Heat that plagues the cities.

Carob for the kids,
A desperate substitution
For the sharp, luxurious shock
Of chocolate.

I run the silver spoon
Across my
Drip the soft slips
Of honey
On my ever-curious
Tongue and
Which little
Insects worked
To please
The unrefined
Honey tastes
Of a girl
In this foreign land.

What's In a Name

My grandmother
Once told me
With snow falling outside
And withered hands
Folding on her lap
Twisting tangles of long black hair,
Why Chess Pie
Was called Chess Pie.

A group of tidy Southern
Gentlemen drifted, she said,
From the sweet smells
Of the kitchen to the
Smoky side room
To play a relaxed game of Chess,
A gleaming yellow pie in hand.

When the sun hung lower in
The heated sky,
She told me:
Stored in a pie chest
To keep the wandering rats away,
Deep in the humidity
Of the Old South,
The pie became so popular it
Was called "Chest Pie."

When her ancient
Hands held mine,
And gray hairs spread
Across her roots
Like little
Rivers on the road
After a fresh rainfall,
She whispered
In the light of the fire,

In the trees
Of the Spanish moss,
A plantation worker
Whispered in a voice
Much like my grandmother's,

It's just pie.