Literary Chaos Magazine's Poetry Page | Suzanne Nielsen

Semaphoring with Sass
By Suzanne Nielsen

About the Author:

Suzanne Nielsen, a native of St.
Paul, Minnesota, teaches
writing at Minneapolis College
of Art and Design (MCAD) and
at Metropolitan State University.
Her poetry, fiction and essays
have been published in various
literary journals nationally and
internationally; most recently
her work has appeared in The
Comstock Review, Mid-America
Poetry Review, The Pedestal,
and 580 Split. Upcoming work
will appear in Banyan Review,
R-KV-R-Y and Gin Bender
Poetry Review. So’ham
Bookswill publish her collection
of poetry titled “East of the
River,” in October 2005.

Nielsen received a BA in Writing
from Metropolitan State
University, and a MALS degree
with an emphasis in writing
from Hamline University where
she is currently completing her
doctorate work in Education.

	Ricky Sass stands outside the north door of our school sucking his snot back inside his head. The tip of his nose is chapped, year round. How do I know? He lives in the projects across the street from me on Maryland Avenue and we hound the same playground from the first day of summer vacation until school resumes in September. He's throwing stones against the boarded up window waiting for Dan Reilly, a popular fifth grader who's a year ahead of us. Ricky is going to kick his ass. I don't fight. Kids only go to the north door to watch a fight, unless you're nuts. The pavement and retaining wall outside the north door are splattered with the stains of many bloody fights from earlier this year. It's almost time for Easter vacation, but that doesn't make Ricky any nicer. I don't think his family gives up things for Lent and I'm not sure Ricky even knows the meaning of Easter. He's never worn ashes on Wednesday, I know that. Last summer he snuck into Presentation church and school, that he calls Prisontation, and stole a box of communion wafers. He brought them to the playground later that afternoon and mock blessed us both before receiving our own body of Christ. That's when we became friends. He used to go to Prisontation for four months until he got kicked out. That's what my mom told me that summer. She scrubbed my tongue when I got home that evening after I told her about the wafers we had for lunch. Scrubbed it raw with a worn out Brillo Pad to get rid of the sins. Then she told me if I ever talked with Ricky Sass again she would make me wish I hadn't. She never knew that Ricky and I didn't need to talk out loud; we communicated through semaphores from reading the dictionary last summer at the playground. We'd taught ourselves how to sign the alphabet last summer after our bond with communion wafers. Here comes O'Reilly now, trailing a line of Haider boys. Haiders have nine kids in their family, all boys, some in the same grade because they aren't smart enough to advance. Tony Haider throws a punch to Ricky's head. Ricky's glasses fly in the air along with his snot. Ricky loses balance, falls against the wall where ten fists pound his head soft. I climb up the hill on the other side of where Ricky fumbles and sign for him give, but he's flipping them all off and laughing till he's out cold. I scream Haters, from the top of my lungs. Ricky's head looks like snot as part of it clings to the wall. Haters, you're all going to hell, I yell. Then I pick up a stone, throw it in their general direction and turn to run from the north door, hoping to get as far as Prisontation and damn them all to hell, all the while wiping my nose clean.