my skin folds like a fan
my face an overripe tomato
reddens puckers
while my spine creaks on its hinges
my fingers curl and crimp
my clothes are vintage
jackets oversized with pads
like kittens sleeping on my shoulders
songs I hum aloud today
were once too cool for words
now sound too stupid
but please do not reveal
my secret—
I am really still fourteen-years-old
onstage in school performing
sure my future
is starbound…
as I wait now on
subway platforms
the loudening rumble inside tunnels
turns into applause
my selves from seven decades
surrounding and supporting
like girl-group backups
help me to survive
the pounding waves of urban life
come up for air
and in the darkness
even see
my name in lights
Margaret D. Stetz is the Mae and Robert Carter Professor of Women’s Studies at The University of Delaware.
Please note: Poetry is compressed to fit smart phone screens. If you are reading this poem on a phone screen, please turn your screen sideways to make sure that you are seeing correct line breaks for this poem.
THE CITY KEY 