By April Hanna

When I was young, I wanted to be a
stop sign
when I grew up.

Because acceleration lanes meet truck tires
like hundred something thread count sheets meet a bed.
Something is telling me to go.
I didn’t put my seatbelt on.

Turned without signaling
Vehicle, flipped.


Miles have been put on my heart
gross frame,
Not to the heads of others
but to my own ache.

Putting a hand around a neck
is running a red light.
Mind and muscle
both have brakes.

I have grown not today fists
and you’ll be sorry roots
and a got it together grin
But phantom chokeholds
still gives me something to cry about,
only sometimes.

When I was young, I wanted to be a
stop sign
I was trying to say crossing guard.


April is a senior studying Communications and Writing at Ramapo College of New Jersey. She is an avid supporter of a well-placed Oxford comma and a good sarcastic remark. Instagram: @aprilplaysbass