Dear the letter
B
your solid, straight back
supporting your bulbous, boisterous bulbs
You are the most glorious letter and this is my love poem to you
You remind me of butterflies and beer, the way the summer sun glints off of the bottle in my father’s hand the way my brother breathes when he sees the wings of the butterfly flap against the wind
You remind me of bagpipes and bath tubs, how my mother used to take a bath each night to wash away the day how my fifth grade music teacher played the bagpipes every first day of school
how everybody thought it was lame, but when the next year came without bagpipes the world felt a little bit grayer
Dear the letter B this love poem to you is bolting all over the page, but the truth is, I haven’t been completely, boldly honest with you,
baby
To be completely truthful, your name reminds me of sadness, too you remind me of “to be or not to be,” what it means to be somebody
you remind me of Buddy Wakefield’s poem stating “I’d still like to be somebody, be somebody,”
and I don’t know what somebody I’d like to be. B. b.
You remind me of battlefields and bulimia,
the bulimia that made my body a battlefield,
of booze and bank accounts
You remind me that these things mean nothing as a child,
but everything a few short years later
You remind me of babies and breana, the sister that shouldn’t have been born but was,
the fear of losing again
You remind me of making something of
myself making someone of myself being somebody for her
but who
do i
want to
b?
Paige
Schoppmann is a junior at Plymouth State University, studying English
and women’s studies. She’s originally from Vermont. In her free time,
Paige plays the French horn, sings, hikes, and spends time with her
friends and family. She is also passionate about raising awareness
about sexual assault, as well as travel.