The Rutgers Review Poetry Collective
Disagreement’s Demise
by Zachary Kauz
Consider the arguments that have already been lost
The silence in the air sat opposed
Doubted by those who couldn’t escape it
The fleeting victory of interruption was celebrated
By those who had lost the battle
He disagreed with the blank canvas in front of him
Confronting it with every color at once
Graphite suppressed its surface level
The surface remained
We disagreed with rhyme and reason
Rejected its form
Rejoiced in the failure of seasons
But never prepared for the storm
I disagreed with life’s primary goal
To escape from us and stoke greed
I protested your loss of life
Unaware of an alternative
Fried Rice
by Anjali Madgula
My brother and I are eating fried rice in this Indo-Chinese restaurant where the walls are decorated with the type of beautiful ethnic design you want to pose in front of
but it feels like stealing.
Maybe most people aren’t afraid of this but it doesn’t feel right to me.
Lately everything feels like it’s not mine to take.
But I pilfer histories from my own culture anyway
And I taste test their ability to validate the parts of me that are lost
Sometimes when I am anywhere further than the east coast, I feel suspended in this cloud realm
Maybe my mind only registers the ascension of our plane into the sky, but landing in someone else’s home doesn’t feel like landing.
Once there was this boy who sat on the other side of our classroom
like it was plane rides away.
But for some crazy reason, I loved him for existing.
I think a part of me is floating above me.
Hanging suspended in some incredible mix of water and condensed particles.
Somewhere it rains.
Somewhere the part of me falls and I must find it before the next cycle.
—
The restaurant has a fish tank full of fish I cannot name,
but as we are eating they are watching us resentfully.
I think it’s impossible that they are happy
and I notice a handful of them frantically gulping the colorful rocks
that lay at the base of the tank and then spitting them out.
They do this repeatedly. How sad is that?
You can pour food in but it settles at the bottom amongst myriads of tiny rocks
So they must search the ground, taste testing rocks from morsels but the colorful pebbles at the base make the whole tank of water glow in different shades and ripples of color
A mere glance of intrigue while we shovel fried rice that burns our throat as we swallow
To That Girl Who Told Me Puerto Ricans Couldn’t Have Green Eyes
by Cassie Rosario
The mystery blue and green forest that encompasses my eye
does not take away the hardships that my people—
my grandparents faced as teenagers
as they left the only place they knew as home.
The golden sunshine hue that is my hair
may not match my mother’s or my sister’s,
but it is mine.
And I would like to think it shines the way the sun does on my beautiful island.
While the lightness of my skin may give me more privilege and leeway for “passing,”
it does not lessen the burden
that I feel when
you tell me that I’m not Puerto Rican.
You Shouldn’t Have Said That
by Anonymous
Splintered wooden floors of our apartment
Failed to retain any heat our fire fed it
i couldn’t feel my toes in the winter.
My sisters shared a blanket but i was too big to fit
The sounds of police sirens kept me awake
In my quest to see you return from work.
I tell this story at dinner in the same moment
I had felt its core memory resurge.
you looked at me vacantly, for a moment
there is pronounced hatred in your eyes.
You insist i am ungrateful
That i am never satisfied.
He came home some time after you.
I know this because of his footsteps
His misstep, something like a limp
As he drags his foot across our floors.
A thud or two indicates he found his
way to the living room and spills
across our couch, flicking off shoes
with the ease of ash from his cigarette.
You don’t say a word.
Somehow this feels worse than nights
where your voices bled through my walls
I tell you this in passing as I dry the dishes,
my sisters have long since left the table
It is back to us sharing the same space,
Just as tense and painful as I remember.
You stare at the glass I passed you for a
second too long, instinctually I try to ease
It from your palms but you let it fall from
Your hand and splinter along the tiled floors.
We are better now, you insist
You’ve-always-had-to-make-it-difficult,
You-know. I-never-got-to-go-to-school
And-waste-my-time-like-you, miss-educated
Liberal-humanitarian, good-fucking-luck-finding
A-job-out-of-my-house. When-you-are-twenty
one-i-swear-to-god-i-can’t-wait-to-axe-you-from
The-house. Say-that-shit-again, do-it, say
it-and-i-swear-to-god-I’ll-finally-fucking-hit-you
Like-you-deserve. I-don’t-care-what-the
Fucking-neighbors-hear-you’re-lucky,
you-miserable-cunt.
All of this comes out in a single breath
You leave the room and my hands are
still shaking.
sweep up the glass and finish the kitchen.
I go to check on my sibling but they locked
their door, taking sides and placing blame
I wait out the hours till i know you are
asleep, my heart still races at the thought
you might be awake in that bed we share
You only look at peace when you rest.
The tension between your brows slack,
The lines subside and you are young.
I am stuck with memories of you then
and who you pretend to be now. the only
constant in this house is the girl doing
your dishes and folding your clothes.
I do all this with the hope that when
I graduate i will be on my own,
As though the flow of her tears
the stench of his alcohol,
as if these things
have no hold at all.
Because These Movements are Possible
by Faith Franzonia
All the more reason
It gives me all the more reason
To set my alarm an hour late
Wake up and push the mattress off the frame
Brush my teeth with Pantene
And spit it out on the duvet
To add lemon and paprika to my coffee
Stir it with my finger
And throw the cup out the window
Because it was just the right temperature.
To eat Stouffer’s Mac & Cheese for breakfast
Frozen.
To feed caviar to the cat
And a danish to the dog.
To wear my least favorite hairstyle,
the side ponytail.
And a bra too small
And a stained shirt
And sweatpants
And some penny loafers
With a nickel in the left.
To pack my bag with all the wrong things
A New Testament Pocket Bible,
Baby Shoes,
Family Matters Magazine,
An empty fountain pen,
Christmas lights,
Monopoly Junior,
And my grandmother’s Lenox plate
To throw the first rock I see at my Honda
And then the second
Wait for the alarm to go off.
Turn,
Take the razor scooter 6 miles
To the left.
To go throughout my day
*the day.
To come home
Take my shoes off
Place them in the neighbor’s mailbox.
To remove all the lightbulbs in the house.
Put those in the neighbor’s mailbox as well.
To call my sister on the landline.
Remember I don’t have a sister.
Or a landline.
Leave a voicemail asking what she is wearing for Thanksgiving
Next year.
To eat cheerios for dinner
Pour Ginger Ale over them.
“Zap it” in the microwave for 30 seconds.
Taste it.
Not warm enough.
30 more seconds.
Burn my tongue.
To retire to bed
At 6:30.
Leave that mattress on the floor.
Sleep on the box spring.
And so on
And so forth.
How loud this empty is.
All the room to bang around in incorrectly is tempting.