Sample Poems by Alissa Sammarco

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When Boys and Girls Dream of One Another

I remember all those years ago
when I was happy and you were too.
We spent our summers giggling,
flirting with the camp counselor,
all of us named the same.
Alice, Lisa, Elise.

We spent our days in bathing suits,
pulling lake grass from our toes,
squealing when it brushed our bellies as we swam,
laying on docks in sun-kissed bodies.
Alice, Lisa, Elise.

We ran everywhere, too excited to walk,
too impatient to wait one second more
to meet up at the rock. Just a rock.
Its memorial plaque long unread.

We made noise until old ladies shushed us from windows,
floral nightgowns waiving us home.
We scattered into the lamplight,
boys and girls dreaming of one another.

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Russian Palaces

I visited my summer place,
walking through the Painted Ladies,
their porches bound tight
to protect them from winter
that transforms them into Russian Palaces,
buried in antiquity under drifts of snow.
I remember boys who pulled my braids
and girls giggling, our heads together.
Some lost forever to our Father above,
others lost to their own demons,
and those who return to this place
to raise their children,
here, where time is wrapped
in canvas shrouds like these houses.

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Where Childhood Lives

I can still find that place where childhood lives,
silky smooth, trapped in amber.
Each night when I ran with you
under the Milky Way, the Moon, the Stars,
out on the field where we played ball by day,
the fresh cut grass stinging our noses
and we lay face toward the sky,
holding hands and giggling,
telling little secrets to each other
about boys, too young to be lovers.
At the witching hour
between two and three
we were free.

But now the years smell sour
like an old woman’s breath,
and although our secrets are still kept,
we do not share them,
even when we visit that place
where we lived so long ago.

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A Woman’s Jewelry Box

When I was a girl, I would stand at her dresser,
lace doily, where mother’s jewelry box sat,
the comb and brush, the necklace from last night,

loose and forgotten.

For hours I stood examining each piece,
slipping rings on fingers,
silver geese over my wrist,
their endless circle, tail to beak.

Strings of pearls hung below my belly,
they swung as I shifted on my feet,
fearing her return at any second.

The mirror lifts the veil of time,
growing my hair long then shearing it short,
lightening it from ginger to white,
sharpening the corners of my eyes,
hardening the softness of my face.

This is a woman’s right,

like Great Aunt Lucy’s emerald,
like Aunt Pauline’s insignia ring,
like mother’s sapphire blue like her eyes,

passed between us, our own dowry.

Her box was lined of secrets, soft like velvet,
I filled mine with shells from Holden Beach,
whispering in my ear,
secrets of seas not yet sailed
and gifts on distant shores.

I count the days since she left me,
and examining these geese, tail to beak,
listening to seashells,
remembering secrets they no longer speak.

Now I cannot recall whether they were ever mine to keep.