Two Poems
Gianella Rosado
What I Learned at 16
“Learn to sew,” abuela said.
Pencil in bun, baby blue smock, thimble on her thumb.
She mended a Levi’s Jean 505 pocket
motioning toward a green floral seat.
So I sat beside the 1957 Singer,
watched worn workers’ clothes renewed.
“Learn to bargain,” mamá said.
Face flushed, wine-stained coat, umbrella cane clutched.
In icy January rain we hustled down 37th Street.
My fingers brushed along rows of silk, chiffon, Egyptian cotton.
Shades of orange blended into blushing reds.
Colors cascaded down from shop windows.
Waving through the wind like a flag
for seamstresses, tailors, and garment workers.
“Learn to measure,” tía said.
Notebook in hand, necklace of tape, two ponytail strands.
tía passed me pink tape rolled in a ball,
unwound numbers trickled down a line.
My fingers fumbled with a mannequin
till I grew confident to wrap a string
around a person, who could move, speak, and ask.
Read aloud numbers that led to tears or accusations.
Clock-in, clock-out women who wanted the wrong size.
When I turned 16, I bargained the price of baby blue organza
with a Turkish store owner on 37th, next to the tailor shop.
When I turned 16, I spent hours listening to the hum
on a stool by the Bernette Crafter I got for Christmas.
When I turned 16, I thought I knew everything I needed to know.
August 2019
Hopped a fence, borrowed a key,
left a post-it note on a Mac screen.
My hands were shaking thinking we’d get caught.
You laughed and said, “This isn’t a real job.”
Our bare footsteps echoed on wet tiled floors.
We passed a light blue swim bag left on a bench,
an orange floral faded cap,
and a pair of reading glasses resting on the floor.
I can still see you standing on the edge
reciting some knock-off version of Macbeth.
The board dipped beneath the sudden weight,
then a rippling splash into cold water.
You reached out your hand,
and pulled me in with your kind-hearted laugh.
I shivered in the icy water.
You mimicked the movements of sirens, mermaids, and butterflies.
The effortless display sinking my worries,
I brought myself to join in on a freestyle dance.
The clock hit 3 and the music stopped.
I heard a sharp inhale and a crash.
You sunk lower till you were out of sight.
My vision blurred, breath tightened.
A splash-n-swim ball, my silver class ring,
and some 2005 Jefferson nickels
are what you pressed into my hand
when you finally came up for air.
Gianella Rosado is from Bayonne NJ. She is in the Class of 2024 and is double majoring in English and History. In her free time she sings in the University Choir, plays the piano and writes.