In the summer of 1982, as told by dad
Take what I say with a grain
of angel dust. James Brown on the radio
in constant conversation. These are
the days the D train filled its bodice
with graffiti & tinny boom boxes.
Underneath the Williamsburg Bridge,
you were only buying your drugs—
the pop of a gunshot and the squeal
of reality’s response interrupts.
Faith cannot exist on its own
// you go home to your cream
of barley soup and Al Green. Pretend
you did not see the universe shatter—
if only for a moment. (its seams will
reconstitute itself with heat waves
off the pavement) Watch your chest,
it still rises in breath like leavened bread.
Sara Munjack is a sophomore English (literature) major at SUNY Geneseo. She grew up in Queens but also lived in Austin, Texas. She attended five different elementary schools in five years. She spends most of her time writing angsty songs on her guitar or writing poetry.