Cicely Grace has made the 2024 CBC Poetry Prize shortlist for There is no neutral way to say I was fourteen.

She will receive $1,000 from the Canada Council for the Arts and her poem has been published on CBC Books.

The winner of the 2024 CBC Poetry Prize will be announced Nov. 21. They will receive $6,000 from the Canada Council for the Arts, a two-week writing residency at Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity and have their work published on CBC Books.

This year's jury is composed of Shani Mootoo, Garry Gottfriedson and Emily Austin. The jury selects the shortlist and the eventual winner from the longlist, which is chosen by a reading committee of writers and editors from across the country. Submissions are judged anonymously on the basis of the participant's use of language, originality of subject and writing style.

For more on how the judging for the CBC Literary Prizes works, visit the FAQ page.

If you're interested in the CBC Literary Prizes, the 2025 CBC Nonfiction Prize opens in January and the 2025 CBC Poetry Prize will open in April.

Cicely Grace is a 24-year-old writer based in Vancouver. She holds a degree in English literature from the University of British Columbia, where she specialized in feminism, sexuality, and modernist women's writing. Her writing has appeared in Contemporary Verse 2, The Garden Statuary, The Foundationalist and Pulp Literature. She was awarded second place in the Foster Poetry Prize and first runner up in the Magpie Award for Poetry. Her influences include Anais Nin, Dorianne Laux, Kim Addonizio, Clarice Lispector and Virginia Woolf.

Grace shared with CBC Books her inspiration to write There is no neutral way to say I was fourteen: "It took me nearly a decade to heal from the experience of being 14 and I don't believe I am alone in that. I wanted to write a poem that captured this year of humiliating inaugurations, a year that was truly 'a series of exposures.' Fourteen was the year I began to resent my girlhood, to see it as a debilitating curse, something I needed to cure myself of.

"And because I had begun to look like a woman, people, especially men, began to treat me like one. What's more, it seemed like they were daring me to prove it, to prove I wasn't just a naive little girl. There is no neutral way to say I was fourteen was born out of an attempt to reanimate that girl in her ponytail and first-job uniform, to put her experiences on a page in order to heal her of them.

"For me, writing and reading are means of exorcism. I have never found a more thorough method of dispelling pain, or of making pain useful. Once I was finally able to tell this story to myself, to face what it looked like on a page, I wanted to put it out in the world so that it could resonate with others.

"I believe it is a rare thing for a girl to escape adolescence without experiencing someone's attempt at degrading them, humiliating them, sexualizing them. My hope is that it resonates with women and anyone whose memories of adolescence are touched by these things."

when I became a phone girl at the pizza place and the manager told me God,
you look way better with your hair up like that. Trust me,
the heat of a suburban plaza parking lot is bald,
humiliating, the rival of Mars.
And standing next to a pizza oven is like being licked
by the devil. But I felt I was just lucky

to be making money and becoming friends
with the seniors, their cars and secret freedoms,
tagging along to their parties where they made a game
out of getting me drunk, even if that meant sweating
all summer in a grey polyester polo taking orders
and wiping windows, squatting on asphalt breathing bleach. I was practicing

my new smile, so recently naked
of braces, I could still taste the glue of the brackets.
And everything was inaugural: a series of exposures.
Once I got so nervous ringing up
the university women's volleyball team
picking up six large for a seasonal soiree, beautiful women

in pink tanks, their lean limbs swaying
like the leaved curtains of willows,
that I punched in the wrong number and charged $9000
to their coach's credit card. My manager said, trying to reverse the charge,
That's quite the balance your coach has.

And one time the driver Cocaine Keith forgot a 2L of Pepsi
and after being scolded by the patron came careening
back into the parking lot, grabbed it from the fridge and shook it furiously
yelling I'm going to let it explode all over his face.
And sometimes I'd tell my mom

I had to stay late. And I'd sit cross legged
in the back of an older boy's pick up truck.
And he'd smoke a joint, and I'd shriek a little
when he let the ash fall on my thigh, a wretched
baptism. And he'd hold it out to me, the end
of it crumpling in flame, and I'd take it,

my whole body braced for experience,
and what he had to give me
was a set of instructions: breathe in and keep it there,
hold it in your lungs. What else could I do
but obey? I was fourteen, but I wasn't stupid: you really must believe
he was kind to me at first.

The winner of the 2024 CBC Poetry Prize will receive $6,000 from the Canada Council for the Arts, have their work published on CBC Books and win a two-week writing residency at Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity. Four finalists will each receive $1,000 from the Canada Council for the Arts and have their work published on CBC Books.

If you're interested in the CBC Literary Prizes, the 2025 CBC Nonfiction Prize opens in January and the 2025 CBC Poetry Prize opens in April. The 2026 CBC Short Story Prize will open in September.