The Shards of Nasril

The Shards of Nasril

-Seth’s Poetry Class

I am

The Rummy champion,

A tree, two dogs

And a cliff.

climber

I miss rocks that were houses,

and the Grandmother Willow tree

I am from fog horn sounds

And snow plows scraping streets through night,

blinking their lights,

A power plant that floats

Over the hill

like the moon

I am

languid liquid

Free flowing till

I freeze

into stark

Rainbow reflection

Where beauty was invented

So Northeast no one

Knows 

but Canadia.

Wicked.

I miss the Angell Ave bungalow

Whose two tar roads

Are yellow with beachy sand,

I am a girl

Who used to sing the Lord’s prayer

To her dolls dying of malaria

And now

Church makes me sick

I miss Imus in the morning

And Bill Nye reruns 

After school

I am from

“We need to put some meat on those bones!”

And wondering how my dad’s thighs are so muscular 

I’ve got some big whitey tighties to fill.

I am

Awkward.

And I miss spaghettio’s.

I am not just a number

I was taught never to look down

I miss sculpting tin foil cubes

From public school lunches.

Wading thigh high 

In black water 

Collecting Indian-soap.

From seaweed,

Ferry rides through sea smoke

Homemade honey and

Fried bread with nutella. 

The farmhouse,

And past due bills

I am from the Ocean

Winking back at me

Knowing always who 

I am.

I miss skinny dipping with my brothers

When the homework was scarce,

Girls had cooties,

And everyone looked the same

We didn’t care