born
-after Jeanann Verlee
i was born of Edgewood born of al-mall quickie mart slash hookah bar
slash pizza parlor slash ministry born of South Providence next door
with their chimi trucks and speed bumps called us edge-hood called us
e-dubb called us secret handshakes and secret language born from fachii
and boss-man and bogue-rocks born of Warwick next door with their
strip malls and baseball and long roads born of broad street and park ave
and bicycles with pegs to stand on and handle bars to sit on three to a bike
no problemo born between exurb and ghetto flanks and the water holding us
together from beneath our city born of Narragansett bay of low tide
of geese covered in black oil
in first grade summer camp the counselors pelican marched us
to the bamboo and sludge of the Narragansett bay told us to pick up sea glass
my mom said THEY MADE A BUNCH OF 6 YEAR OLDS PICK UP GLASS
i came home with a jar full of softened colored shards from many broken
transformations ago a jar full of the windows of a thousand shattered
synagogues ran my fingers along the edges that once screamed danger
tipped my salted tongue to the top part of the ocean and pretended
to crunch TAKE THAT GLASS AWAY FROM YOUR FACE
my mom had a fear (love) that any broken thing would break again
i was not born in Edgewood no one is born in Edgewood but we move
and settle until the water and salt weathers us hardened born of a flexible
that is more dangerous than hard things born of Edgewood where the
hardest out was the boy who could take more punches not give them
still smile sea salt the next day born of America Online cds in bulk
stolen from wal-mart and garage doors to tape them to and bb guns
to shoot them with born of the poker game on friday night in the basement
of Glenn’s house (Patrick had bought a stolen bike from a boy named Gitchi
behind Marchetti’s restaurant while i kept look out when the poker game gossip
told us the bike was stolen we pelican marched to the other side of town
and took the money back Edgewood style, we kept the bike, salted our way
home and smoked bogue-rocks in our triumph bossman) I won poker that
winter night called fachi and walked home with a pocket full of seventy five
dollars and a t-shirt off of glenn’s back my ears tucked into a fitted cap and a silver
star of david salting my neck shining in the midnight like stained glass
—AARON SAMUELS
i was born of Edgewood born of al-mall quickie mart slash hookah bar
slash pizza parlor slash ministry born of South Providence next door
with their chimi trucks and speed bumps called us edge-hood called us
e-dubb called us secret handshakes and secret language born from fachii
and boss-man and bogue-rocks born of Warwick next door with their
strip malls and baseball and long roads born of broad street and park ave
and bicycles with pegs to stand on and handle bars to sit on three to a bike
no problemo born between exurb and ghetto flanks and the water holding us
together from beneath our city born of Narragansett bay of low tide
of geese covered in black oil
in first grade summer camp the counselors pelican marched us
to the bamboo and sludge of the Narragansett bay told us to pick up sea glass
my mom said THEY MADE A BUNCH OF 6 YEAR OLDS PICK UP GLASS
i came home with a jar full of softened colored shards from many broken
transformations ago a jar full of the windows of a thousand shattered
synagogues ran my fingers along the edges that once screamed danger
tipped my salted tongue to the top part of the ocean and pretended
to crunch TAKE THAT GLASS AWAY FROM YOUR FACE
my mom had a fear (love) that any broken thing would break again
i was not born in Edgewood no one is born in Edgewood but we move
and settle until the water and salt weathers us hardened born of a flexible
that is more dangerous than hard things born of Edgewood where the
hardest out was the boy who could take more punches not give them
still smile sea salt the next day born of America Online cds in bulk
stolen from wal-mart and garage doors to tape them to and bb guns
to shoot them with born of the poker game on friday night in the basement
of Glenn’s house (Patrick had bought a stolen bike from a boy named Gitchi
behind Marchetti’s restaurant while i kept look out when the poker game gossip
told us the bike was stolen we pelican marched to the other side of town
and took the money back Edgewood style, we kept the bike, salted our way
home and smoked bogue-rocks in our triumph bossman) I won poker that
winter night called fachi and walked home with a pocket full of seventy five
dollars and a t-shirt off of glenn’s back my ears tucked into a fitted cap and a silver
star of david salting my neck shining in the midnight like stained glass
—AARON SAMUELS
