Puberty
by Aisha Sharif
In Michael’s mirror,
his nose is a rotten potato.
Dry skin cracks
like an earthquake.
Pimples sprout
like eyes.
In his mirror, girls watch
and whisper, Ew,
what a big ol’ nose.
Michael pushes in nostrils,
picks at pimples, scrubs
blackheads. Can’t understand—
they won’t disappear.
Mother fails to console,
Maybe you’re constipated.
She cleans puss, rubs cream
on blemishes. Joseph laughs,
Your nose is the only black thing
about you, boy.
In his mirror,
Michael wishes his nose
wiped away.


