They say you’re common
but not to a Brooklyn girl like me
The only ruby flutterings of my youth
traffic lights under the El
as we raced to the dun waters
of the Bay (behind bars)
My own red mouth agape
in the backseat listening
to my parents fight
Little Red Corvette on the radio
My only adult male
a hostile boil
that wiped out the bank accounts
My hum a landscape
for displacement
or
where do you go when tectonics shift
when the rocking boat lifts
& nothing is where
you left it
not even the skin
that carried you
on the ferris wheel that night
the whir & candy
the faces all lit up in neon
You looked down
at your brother
put your feelings
between the boardwalk slats
The yelling lost in the din
The quarters in your palm
As you looked out
at the Atlantic
& saw
your first loon.
Copyright © 2026 by Melissa Eleftherion. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 4, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
