Clemente Curls

Isabella Victoria

Runner-up
2017 Patricia Grodd Poetry Prize for Young Writers

Pittsburgh, city of bridges,
like my favorite waves
of hair.
The ones that don’t sit perfectly
still, the ones that are parabolic.
Dark and Hot Metal.
Lightened by summer and ponytails.

Chipped painted
nails can’t untangle.
Running fingers through my hair,
stuck like a little kid in a hammock,
scared of falling.

When I was younger
I wore a crown
of bridges,
the corner of 8 and 9.
Magnified by the swish of irons.
Cold showers in the summer,
the water clings
underneath the bridges
like the last bit of honey
stuck in the bottle.

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