Sarah Shapiro




Maybe because my Madonna kinda looked
like Rosie O’Donnell. Maybe because she was my
full-time sitter. Maybe I looked a bit
like Michelle Trachtenberg, brown pony, fair skin,
felt Harriet’s abandonment when Ole Golly
moved-on. Maybe it was the warmth of the big
holding the hurt of the little, or the goodbye
promises of imagination, creativity. Maybe
it was simply the 1980’s fisherman’s raincoat,
hanging in the hall closet of the beige split level
we settled into; the sheer muchness of banana-peel
against heathers, chestnuts, camels and steels—
I don’t know. But when I tugged it on, slid
this month’s journal into the left pocket,
swiss army knife, binoculars, and sparkly gel pens
into the right, I became the magic kind of invisible.



Sarah Shapiro‘s debut chapbook the bullshit cosmos (ignitionpress 2019) works to bridge the gap between those who struggle to read and those who read with ease. She is a poetry MFA candidate at University of Massachusetts Boston, where she also teaches.

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