Tag Archives: Sara Munjack

Sara Munjack

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.

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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.

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