Thirty Going

on seventeen, I come from hearty straw.
My grandpa wore a gallon
hat. My grandma, like a shogun,
bun and shawl. For their honeymoon,
they went to the movies. No one
knows what they saw.

You arrive with licorice, cigarettes,
the documentary on Woody Allen.
Don’t feign a passion for his start

in tv, or his clarinets,
or Love and Death. Just skip to the Soon-
Yi part.




More Poems by Natalie Shapero