mary cordisco
sometime, summer 2002
i can’t tell you the whole story.
i’d like to, but i’d have to find first how to tell it
to myself
what i can give are details,
the trees, not the forest
the summer i learned about herbal essence conditioner
and how to flat iron my hair
is the summer i first watched Maury, home with no parents, raiding
the change jar to clean out the ice cream man when his song
broke through the screams on the TV
i can tell you it was after lunch but not quite dinner time
when they broke in and broke up our game
of Spit, a midday ritual, after Jerry Springer and before Jeopardy
the local news muted on the screen
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
a bright morning sun over the back of the lower
bucks county courthouse is the next part,
the ending, a story with no middle
sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s new black SUV
silent, staring into the light until my eyes were just spots
blinking, red, orange, yellow
i do not remember walking into the courthouse
i’m told i did, i said everything they needed me to say, i’m told
i was good.
i remember getting ice cream after, i remember not finishing it
i’d like to, but i’d have to find first how to tell it
to myself
what i can give are details,
the trees, not the forest
the summer i learned about herbal essence conditioner
and how to flat iron my hair
is the summer i first watched Maury, home with no parents, raiding
the change jar to clean out the ice cream man when his song
broke through the screams on the TV
i can tell you it was after lunch but not quite dinner time
when they broke in and broke up our game
of Spit, a midday ritual, after Jerry Springer and before Jeopardy
the local news muted on the screen
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
a bright morning sun over the back of the lower
bucks county courthouse is the next part,
the ending, a story with no middle
sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s new black SUV
silent, staring into the light until my eyes were just spots
blinking, red, orange, yellow
i do not remember walking into the courthouse
i’m told i did, i said everything they needed me to say, i’m told
i was good.
i remember getting ice cream after, i remember not finishing it
Biography
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mary cordisco (she/her) is a current graduate student at Villanova University, where she is studying postmodernism and critical university studies. she has had her poetry published in Manuscript, the literary magazine of Wilkes University. you can find her tweeting about poetry, capitalism, and the philadelphia eagles @marykcordisco.
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