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The Religious Issue
Vol. 5 Issue 1
Nostalgia
by Joanna Mostov
Marissa and her blond hair in the pink State Line Diner
she was always beautiful.
Her girly pink gloss on a marble table
her peachy white skin lounging all over James.
She always did things like that
I remember. . . . .
Kevin, Mike, Marissa and Joanna
7-11 on a Sunday night.
Kicked on the curb for no reason
and the way we dressed
with tight bondage wrapped around our skinny bones.
Me and Marissa's slut skirts on a summer's night
Winning contests for leopard bras busting through barley there tank tops.
Sour Vodka in our cherry coke Slurpees
and sharing Marlboro Lights.
Playing X-Rey-Spex because Mike hated them
and Crass because he loved them.
Marissa wore bleached jeans and black boots in the Ridgewood park
where she told me she was pregnant
as my shoulders turned we from her punk rock tears.
She laughed ten minutes later as the sun went down.
Time of hooded sweatshirts to cover leopard bras.
I laughed as the smile stung my cheeks
I wanted Mike's baby inside my virgin Mary stomach.
I still do sometimes
Marissa fooled around with Robyn
Robyn with the pink glistening hair and short skirts.
I watched her scream through the mini microphone at the Skabs show in Teaneck
Almost no clothes on her bright white body
She paused between songs
asking for sugar and candy.
I let the sugar from my leopard bag sit there in my hand
till the wrapper melted and clear crystals showered my index finger.
Scared like a first grade valentine
nervous like a toy doll in love.
She wouldn't want my sugar anyway.
Mike had a black hole where his front tooth used to be
under the lip ring that shined like the glitter on his laughing face
Mike lives in Patterson
and won't drink cherry coke Slurpees drenched in Vodka
and has no recollection that he ever did
I try to paste up my red poster that reads "Punks Not Dead"
in black graffiti.
But the yellow tape just lands in my hair during my sleep some nights.
Kevin isn't around to paste it up anymore.
he left for college one year early
he told me I was a big mistake anyway.
Photographs of old Punk Rock Glory
are torn from safety pins I used to sew patches with
while Marissa sits under the pink lights in the State Line Diner.
She won't smoke my Marlboro Lights
Marissa quit to play the flute
and I smoke Newports anyway.
Marissa is on top of James.
I wish he'd come to my side of the table
and feel my shaven legs for a while.
Some things will never change