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World Trade the Past for a Nickel

Written by Kaylee Lowe. Posted in Poetry.

September 13, 2021, 9/11 Memorial and Oculus Transportation Hub, NY, NY
Oculus, show me what I seek.
For me it was never about the heights
Real New Yorkers(™) seldom look up
I was too young to be anything but real
not even myself, who looks up now.
But tunnels are an endless maze
in recollection, books, wasabi, vampires,
a pinky nail long enough to give the lie.
Winter and spring, it was the garden of my teenaged…
aged, if youth is a country lost
you can still visit the cavity, probe the hole and hope
you find more wisdom than stitches.

Oldest Daughter

Written by Libby Knight. Posted in Poetry.

A quiet moment:
me, sitting in the morning,
peeling a tangerine

pliant, fragrant,
generous. I breathe

in citrus groves and
pry soft segments apart,
release a torrent with my tongue.

Perched in the captain seat,
I rolled down the window
of the old minivan
stuck my head out
caress of orange blossom
balm of Florida breeze going by         hush

I peeled fruit for breakfast,
for lunch, four plates
at the table. One for me,
three other mouths
always served the youngest first

At my kitchen table,
I turn away from the sink,
the pots, the lunchboxes waiting
to be filled and emptied and filled again
I am

a person sitting,
eating a tangerine