Chatham, MA

by Laura Wanamaker

Steeple like a swear word.
I’ll never say (Amen) again.

Library like a turtle.
Book spines, shell tiles, thick.

Beach like a boomerang.
Always, always, always.

School like a snake. Barely escaped.
Bit of venom in my blood.

Boys like buoys.

Apartment like a lobster trap.
Don’t have to go in.

Area code like a worm.
Infests old devices, old books.

Yards like shrines.
Vandalized with bike tires.

Forests like hairlines.
Each recedes uniquely.

People like paper.
Kept, crumpled, salty, lined.

Laura Wanamaker was born in Brewster, MA, on Cape Cod, where she has lived her entire life. However, being from a small town, she craved something bigger, and carted herself off to Walnut Hill School of the Arts in Natick, MA, where she is a boarding student. There she discovered how much she loved poetry. Before then, it had been a “hobby”, and she knew practically nothing about how write a “good” poem.