NEW YORK’S UGLY STEP-
-brother (and I say brother because our rusted
smokestacks and exit routes run jagged, craggy,
crunching past borders) is descended from the
plumpest Channel Island, a fact I gleaned while
flipping Joe’s Peach Tea bottlecaps & buying Taylor Ham
breakfast sandwiches at a highway diner, swaddled up
in aluminum that crinkles in arteries like the notorious
Turnpike who bottlenecks victims in side veins
or the Garden State Parkway’s ten-car pileups. I
understand he’s a little bit neglected, a little homely,
maybe washed-up, like a rugged rebound or those cheap
Newark airport souvenirs I adore but don’t cherish,
but along the browning Hudson (where I’ve hiked
when Ramapo is in snake season) turn up calcified
squirrel skulls and musket balls that once picked off
Redcoats down Fort Lee. I’ve thought before that history
slapped New Jersey into something jaded in its
wintry boardwalks and grid plans: they go
city / suburbia / suburbia—but the cuts of it are still
sweet, like saltwater taffies on my lip.
By Yejin Suh
Biography:
Yejin Suh is an aspiring writer from New Jersey who appears or is forthcoming in Half Mystic, Juke Joint Mag, and Prometheus Dreaming, among others.