Two Poems
Allison Gellerstein
The Room-Box Quiz
A friend asked me once to describe a box,
where was it in the room, what color.
It was purple in the center of the room,
parallel to a horse sniffing at the ground
opposite the window I conjured.
The room-box quiz was my friend’s
invention and in her fortune telling
experiment, the horse represented
that my future great love will be
observant and perceptive. Hers
breathed fire and neither of us
could find an explanation for that.
My current boyfriend, when he was
asked, said his horse was
confused how it got there.
And I am.
I am in a constant state of wonder
at the person I accidentally turned
into, the things I’ve written, the
pranks and nonsense I’ve perpetrated.
How do I match my own steps to
the tire treads in the sand ahead
when none of it is playing out
the way I thought it would
Your Designated Corner
Nice people don’t comment on the
basket of unfolded laundry
sitting in the center of the
room, or maybe not exactly
in the middle, but right next
to your bed, jutting out a little.
Nice people won’t tell you that
you’re taking up too much space,
more than yours as allotted, but
sometimes they also don’t care and
it’s only you who feels you should
go stand in the corner,
like a rook on a small black square,
you should only move in prescribed
ways, you are not the most important here.
Nice people respond with gentle
affirmations that you are doing fine
and thank you for dusting the desk.
Allison Gellerstein (24’) is a junior studying English and creative writing with the aim of teaching high school English. Her hometown is Teaneck, NJ, which she loves exploring on rambling walks in the springtime. She can usually be found with a crochet hook or copy of the Talmud nearby.