I was one of those girls who used pliers
to zip their flies. I had bad teeth
and ugly jeans; a hair dryer
blowing incessantly, a small dog
snapping at my ankles,
my ankles tucked neatly into white socks.
I combed my hair, whirring in clouds
of wind, with a sewing needle,
some thread. I wove in blackberries
and blackbird feathers, and beaks,
and Jessie’s model ship,
and buttons from the button box,
and dollhouse tables, even
a salt lick from the stables
where I liked to lay in hay.
Emily Brandt teaches English and yoga to high school students in Brooklyn, co-edits No, Dear magazine, and is working on her MFA at NYU. Her poems have appeared in Podium, BluePrint Review, Swamp, and more; and her photos have appeared in The New York Times and The Jewish Weekly.
RECONFIGURATIONS: A Journal for Poetics & Poetry / Literature & Culture, http://reconfigurations.blogspot.com/, ISSN: 1938-3592, Volume Three (2009): Immanence/ Imminence