Nose by Phoebe Lyons


Way Up by Alex Garant
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Nose

To my fat Italian nose,
skip church on a Sunday nose,
smile to your face and talk shit behind your back
nose.
To this nose of mine
that doesn’t seem to end.
This doesn’t seem to care
that, hey, I am trying to kiss this boy without poking his eyeball out with my nose
nose.
This unadulterated,
crooked profile nose.

I have watched you when I lower my eyelashes,
this failure at hide and go seek
this roadblock to my 20-20 field of vision
nose.

This get out of bed and into a book
nose.

I have sent you to a
certain kind of
Hell and back,
nose.
I am sorry for the Biore strips and
trendy sunglasses.
I am sorry for the softball
my dad could not pitch.
I am sorry for the fake septum I try to pull off as real,

my fat Italian nose,
my Barbara Streisand,
“people with big noses always end up famous, Phoebe,”
rested on my mother’s fragrant shoulder
nose.

To my fat Italian nose,
my Eskimo-kiss nose.
To the bane of my existence
and my one true confidante,
to the reason everyone in Saugerties, NY
knows my last name
nose:

You’re the only trophy I’ve ever received.

And this is my acceptance speech.




Phoebe Lyons

Phoebe Lyons is a Creative Writing and Bilingual Childhood Education major at the College at Brockport in Brockport, NY. She is a part-time musician, a part-time Chance the Rapper enthusiast and a full-time party. You can find more of her published works in Germ Magazine..