POETRY PORTFOLIO

Jaclynn Rogers

ENGL 283 - INTRO TO CREATIVE WRITING

Dr. Justin Blessinger
Mistaken Identity: Draft One......................................................................................................................................2

Mistaken Identity: Draft Two......................................................................................................................................3

Mistaken Identity: Final Draft....................................................................................................................................4

Poetry 101: Draft One..................................................................................................................................................5

Poetry 101: Draft Two..................................................................................................................................................6

Poetry 101: Final Draft.................................................................................................................................................7

An Ode to My Bed: Draft One.....................................................................................................................................8

An Ode to My Bed: Draft Two....................................................................................................................................9

An Ode to My Bed: Final Draft.................................................................................................................................10

Snow’s Allure: Draft One...........................................................................................................................................11

Snow’s Allure: Draft Two..........................................................................................................................................12

Snow’s Allure: Final Draft.........................................................................................................................................13

The Stillest Place: Draft One.....................................................................................................................................14

The Stillest Place: Draft Two.....................................................................................................................................15

The Stillest Place: Final Draft....................................................................................................................................16

To My Love: Draft One..............................................................................................................................................17

To My Love: Draft Two.............................................................................................................................................18

To My Love: Final Draft............................................................................................................................................19

All for Shirtwaists: Draft One...................................................................................................................................20

All for Shirtwaists: Draft Two...................................................................................................................................24

All for Shirtwaists: Final Draft..................................................................................................................................28

Poems in this portfolio follow the order they were assigned: Doppelganger Poem, Ars
Poetica, ACTS Poem, Beautiful Changes Poem, Poem of Place, Love Poem, and Historical
Monologue.

Peer and instructor comments are generally in separate textboxes with reference to the line
they are about, but some are inline in red ink. As red ink won’t show up when printing, they
will also be highlighted.
1
 Mistaken Identity: Draft One

Wandering the grocery store Comments:

Thinking to myself 1. Add quotation marks around

“Oh, this will be perfect”
Oh, this will be perfect
2. Add a break around “Ah-
Picking it up
ha!”
Searching the aisles
3. Add more breaks in
Ah-ha!
between, maybe put the last
Putting it in her basket two lines lower on the page.
Coming up behind her 4. Make it clearer that this
Hugging and trying to startle her woman looks like your
Moving to the side as she turns mother—add more
…oh no descriptions.

That is not my mother

2
 Mistaken Identity: Draft Two

I wander the grocery aisles alone

But should I get lost, I do have my phone. Comments:
My goal is to find the perfect snack 1. Good images.
To enjoy with Mom when we get back. 2. Line 5’s “it is” is
singular, but line 6’s
I turn a corner, and there it is— “Ritz crackers and
Ritz crackers and Bacon Cheese-Whiz! Bacon Cheese-
I grab one of each and turn back around, Whiz” is plural—
Eager to show mom what I’ve found inconsistent.
3. Line 8, end in period.
I peer down aisles, looking for brown hair. Line 15 change
Where is the 5’7” woman wearing glasses with flair? comma to semicolon.
The shirt Mom’s wearing was black…was it green? 4. Metrical feet fall
One thing is certain, she’s wearing blue jeans. apart in the last line.

One corner more, then it’s her back that I see—

Violet purse, brown hair, and wearing blue Lee’s.
I set the snacks down, they’ll be a surprise.
From behind her, I hug and she jumps…then I recognize

This is not my mother.

3
 Mistaken Identity: Final Draft

I wander this grocery store alone

But in case I get lost, I do have my phone.
I want to surprise Mom with a perfect snack
To eat with her when we get back.

I turn a corner, and there the snack is—

Ritz crackers and Bacon Cheese-Whiz!
I grab one of each and turn back around,
Eager to show Mom what I’ve found.

I peer down aisles, looking for short brown hair.

Where is the 5’7” woman wearing glasses with flair?
The shirt Mom’s wearing was black…was it green?
One thing is certain, she’s wearing blue jeans.

One corner more, and I find her comparing pies—

Flaunting glasses, brown hair, and faded blue Levi’s.
She’s typing on her phone and oblivious to me.
I hug her from behind, but she jumps…then I finally see

This is not my mother.

Final Comments:
 When we got the prompt for the doppelgänger poem, I interpreted it as literally someone
who looks like someone else. The idea that I had was primarily this: a child and her mom
are in a store when the kid wanders off for a minute or two, and when she returns, she
mistakes another woman for her mother. Thankfully I didn’t have first-hand experience
with hugging a stranger, but I have mistaken another person for my mom before.
 I took almost every comment to heart and changed a lot in this poem, but I wanted to keep
the second to last line slightly longer than the rest—sort of to drag out the conclusion and
to mimic the long moment of confusion the young narrator would feel.
4
 Poetry 101: Draft One

A poem must be simple, its lines clear and precise.

The words included must the reader entice.
But a true poet knows
To just go with words flows
Can be an unlucky roll of the dice.

Some poems rhyme while others do not,

Some include rhymes as an afterthought
But if there’s too many words
Comments:
Merely parroting like birds
1. “To just go with words’
Your poem’s too sweet; your teeth it will rot.
flows” – change phrasing
here, maybe
Nature often serves as the poet’s muse;
2. Add “If” to beginning of
But if handles poorly, your readers will snooze.
line 10.
A poetic scene
3. Change wording in line 20
Be it plant or machine,
—maybe “And they’ll hang
Should both represent and amuse.
you by noose”

Poems show feeling, this part is true,

And emotions can lead to a poem’s breakthrough.
But if you write to complain
Your readers you’ll drain
Instead maybe find a hobby that’s new.

Like anything, poetry has countless tricks to the trade

But with some practice, your skills you’ll upgrade.
Just make sure to think
About the words that you link

5
And your poem’s message will be conveyed!

Poetry 101: Draft Two

A poem must be simple, its lines clear and precise.

The words included must the reader entice.
But the poet must know
Just letting words flow
Can be an unlucky roll of the dice. (May temp the ill luck of the dice?)

Some poems rhyme while and others do not;

Comments:
Some include rhymes as an afterthought. - ?
1. First three stanzas
But if there’s too many words
stronger, last two
Just is parroting, like birds:
stanzas weaker.
Then your poem’s too sweet and your teeth will rot.
2. Other comments in-line
in red.
Nature often serves as the poet’s muse,
But if handled poorly, your readers will snooze. (Try again.)
A poetic scene,
Be it plant or machine,
Should both represent and amuse.

Poems show feeling, : this part is true, .

And emotions can lead to a poem’s breakthrough. - ? (Try again.)
But if you write to complain
Your readers you’ll drain.
Instead, maybe find a hobby that’s new.

Like anything, poetry has countless tricks to of the trade

But with some practice, your skills you’ll upgrade,
Just make sure to think

6
About the words that you link
And your poem’s message will then be conveyed!

7
 Poetry 101: Final Draft

A poem must be simple, and its lines precise.

Final Comments:
The poet’s word choice must reader entice.  When I thought about what I
consider the essentials for
But the poet must know
poetry, I came to four main
To just let the words flow point: specific and beautiful
language, rhyme scheme,
May temp the ill luck of the dice.
descriptions of nature, and
descriptions of feelings. From
there, I tried to convey those
Some poems rhyme; others do not.
points into a stanza each,
Some rhyme in slant and display writer’s thought. adding a stanza at the end as
a sort of conclusion to the
But when too many words
whole poem. I wanted to use
Simply parrot like birds, a variation on limerick so that
the poem would be sort of
Then the poem’s effort is all for naught.
fun and lighthearted
compared to the practical
subject, and I also didn’t
Nature often serves as the poet’s muse,
want it to fit a rhyme scheme
But this subject can be easy to misuse. or meter perfectly to show
that poetry doesn’t have to be
A poetic scene,
perfect.
Be it plant or machine,  I loved the suggestion for line
Should both illustrate and amuse. 5, so I added it to my poem. I
also took most of the other
suggestions into account
Poems often show feeling: this part is true. when composing my final
draft.
Emotions might serve as a work’s hardy glue.  The hardest part was
If your work is constrained maintaining a rhyme scheme
that didn’t sound too out of
For you to whine and complain, place or childish.
You may need to bid writing “Adieu!”

Poetry has countless tricks of the trade:

With some practice, however, your stills you’ll upgrade.
If you just keep in mind
The words you’ve aligned,

8
Your poem’s message will then be conveyed!

9
 An Ode to My Bed: Draft One

My dearest bed, so comfy and warm

How I adore that you’ve not lost your form. Comments:
1. Line 6’s “spine feels
But I must admit that I feel regret amazing” line feels weird
I leave all day but you aren’t made yet. —change it somehow
2. Interesting topic—use
I thank you for your unyielding support. more intimate words, like
My spine feels amazing, though sleep often cut short. unyielding, to build on it
Yes, you’re solid and oh-so steady:
But I’m tired—let me fall asleep already.

10
 An Ode to My Bed: Draft Two

My dearest bed, so cozy and warm

How I adore that you’ve not lost your form. (Show!) Comments:
But I must admit that I feel some regret 1. Ineffective
final line.
I leave all day, but you aren’t made yet.
I so love you for your unyielding support;
I wake feeling rested, though sleep’s often cut short.
I can trust you to be solid and inherently steady:
But now I am tired—help me to sleep already.

11
 An Ode to My Bed: Final Draft

Dearest bed, firm, cozy and warm

I adore that you’ve not lost your form.
But I admit that I feel some regret:
I leave the whole day, but you aren’t made yet.
I so love you for your unyielding support;
I wake feeling rested, though sleep’s often cut short.
I can trust you to be solid and inherently steady:
But now I am tired—help me to sleep already.

Final Comments:
 Again, I had a hard time being completely sincere with this poem. The concept of a
sort of “prayer,” using the pattern of Adoration, Contrition, Thanksgiving, and
Supplication, was very dense and hard to undertake without a sarcastic mindset.
One thing I am actually very grateful for is my bed—my mom convinced me to
invest in a good mattress when I moved out, which was excellent advice. I tried to
adopt the ideas of a traditional ACTS poem in a more lighthearted context.

12
 Snow’s Allure: Draft One

Winter is often despised for the snow

Icy roads, freezing toes, blowing nose, heavy clothes
But this snow also holds immense beauty

Every flake that descends is utterly and completely unique Comments:

1. In line 2, rephrase to
Seeing one up close, my interest is piqued “frozen toes, blowy nose”
to fit rhythm more?
2. Line 4, remove “and
No two snowflakes are the same, it’s said, completely”
So for us to see something that has never been 3. Overall, add a more
uniform rhythm
Or never will be again 4. Line 7, change to “So for
It’s wonderous, magical, astounding, remarkable. us to find something
never seen”, or
something to add to
Crystals freezing far above rhythm
Before tumbling down so we can see
No two flakes the same
How lucky we are to see something no one else has

This beauty if fleeting, though

We see only for a moment before the snow
Melts
Then freezes
Then melts
Then freezes
Becoming an amalgam of the ethereal parts it was
Now only clods of ice remain,
And there is no beauty here

13
 Snow’s Allure: Draft Two

Winter is hated for the snow

For icy roads
And frozen toes,
A blowing nose
And heavy clothes,
Yet this cold also has beauty left to show Comments:
1. Line 7 - “utterly
unique”
Every flake that descends is utterly unique rephrase
Seeing one up close, my interest piques 2. Line 10 - “We
behold” who is
Wonders cascading down, white and clean we?
We behold shapes that have never been

We catch a glimpse before this rarity

Starts to melt
And then to freeze
Then melts again
And turns icy,
And becomes an amalgam with no similarity

Now only chunks of ice remain,

And the prior beauty is gone again.

14
 Snow’s Allure: Final Draft

Winter is despised for its bitter cold.

For icy roads
And frozen toes,
A blowing nose
And heavy clothes,
Yet winter’s chill has beauty left to show.

Every extraordinary snowflake, unique

As they tumble down onto my cheek.
Wonders cascading down, white and clean;
I behold shapes never before seen.

I see but a glimmer before this rarity

Starts to melt
And then to freeze,
Then melts again
And turns icy,
Now an amalgam without similarity.

Only chunks of ice remain;

The prior beauty, gone again.

Final Comments:
 The day we were assigned this poem, there was snow in the forecast, which got me thinking
about how beautiful the snow is despite winter being hard on everyone this late in the season. I
wanted to use some sort of visual poetry to mimic the falling of snow in some of the stanzas.
From there I tried to embed as much imagery about the snow and winter as I could. The
comments I received were all quite helpful, and I think my third draft is the best version yet.
15
 The Stillest Place: Draft One

The only voice here is your own.

Comments:
The only car, you drove from home. 1. The closing line is
Without a signal to your phone, interesting – maybe
elaborate about specific
Here you are truly alone. constellations
2. In line 4 – “Here you
are truly alone” maybe
The quiet here can be unbearable, add on to the feeling of
But the peace it brings is incomparable. being alone in the later
lines
3. Maybe change line 10’s
As the sun sinks down, the night begins “the city’s din” to
“city’s dim,” kind of to
The only glow comes from within show even with the city
That house behind you. Its light has been at night, the country is
so much better
Far kinder than the city’s din

Soon enough, the sky unveils

Every star in its detail.

16
 The Stillest Place: Draft Two

The only voice here is your own

The only car, you drove from home. Comments:
1. Line 1 – change “here”
Without a signal to your phone, to “hear”
Here you are truly alone. 2. Adding a comma in line
4, right after “are,”
would create a sort of
The quiet here can be unbearable, pun on “here you are”
3. Lines 5 and 6 – show,
But the peace it brings is incomparable. don’t tell
4. Lines 11 and 12 – feels
completely unfinished,
As the sun sinks down, the night begins. you invite a question
The only glow comes from within about the kind light of
the house then just drop
That house behind you. Its light has been everything—keep
Far kinder than the city’s din. going!

Soon enough, the sky unveils

Every star in its detail.

17
 The Stillest Place: Final Draft

The only voice here is your own. Final Comments:

The only car, you drove from home.  This poem was easily the hardest
one so far. I chose to write about
Fields surround you, crops and loam. my grandparents’ old farmhouse
You barely hear mosquitos’ drone. that I used to visit often as a kid.
Trying to capture a place I know
Without a signal to your phone, so well in so few words was a
Here you are, truly alone. significant challenge. I actually
wrote a couple of paragraphs
about the place beforehand, then
The quiet here can be unbearable, went back to it as I wrote the
poem to pick out the phrases and
But the peace it brings is incomparable. images I wanted to keep in the
poem.
 The rhyme scheme drones on a bit
As the sun sinks down, the night begins. with its repetition, which actually
A gentle glow comes from within was my intention—I wanted it to
sound monotonous and almost
That house behind you. Its light has been boring, which the location
Kinder to you than the city’s din, certainly can be. I tried to include
enough details about the place to
Full of childhood memories when make it interesting enough for the
Your happiness would easily mend. reader to finish, however.
 I tried to take most of my
comments into account, with the
Soon enough, the sky unveils exception of changing line 1’s
“here” to “hear”—since I’m
Every star in its detail. directly referring to the place, I
didn’t want to use a verb. I added
much more description into the
You gaze into the darkened sky third draft which I have mixed
To watch Ursa run and Aquila fly. feelings about: I like that it’s
more vivid, but I think it runs on a
These stars can somehow simplify little longer than I want it to. Of
The troubles you keep in supply. course, that could change if I
decided to edit the rhyme scheme
As you walk in, the quiet outside as well.
Provides your pleasant lullaby.

18
 To My Love: Draft One

My love is nothing like a rose

Regardless if it’s June. Comments:
A flower’s pretty, I suppose, 1. Line 10 – add “that” to
make the meter more
But to metaphors I’m immune. consistent
I would not say that I’ve felt fireworks 2. Lines 11 and 12 – these
lines feel a bit awkward,
Or butterflies flapping in my chest, maybe switch up the
But having you there does have its perks: phrasing to make it flow
better
Regarding hugs, yours are by far best. 3. Line 4 – maybe elaborate
I never thought I’d find a “one” on why you’re immune to
metaphors
And I didn’t expect it’d be you, 4. Line 9 - perhaps give a
But to be together is always fun brief explanation to what a
person’s “one” will be
While we discover ourselves anew.
I can scarcely imagine what our future might be,
But with you by my side, I can’t wait to see

19
 To My Love: Draft Two

My love is nothing like a rose

Regardless if it’s June.
A flower’s pretty, I suppose,
Comments:
But to metaphors I’ve become immune. 1. Line 1 – reminds
I would not say that I’ve felt fireworks me of the
Shakespearean
Or butterflies flapping in my chest, sonnet
But having you there does have its perks (Try again) 2. Metrical feet are all
over – try to do it in
Regarding hugs, yours are by far best. iambic pentameter
I never thought I’d find a “one” as a challenge

And I didn’t think that it’d be you, (No clarity on what changed)
But to be together is always fun (Bleh. Find a better word.)
While we discover ourselves anew.
I can scarcely imagine what our future might be,
But with you by my side, I can’t wait to see.

20
 To My Love: Final Draft

My love is nothing like a rose

No matter day nor month nor week.
A flower’s pretty, I suppose,
But love that’s cut is much too bleak.
I haven’t felt my heart combust
Or insects flutter in my chest.
Yet my trust in you, implicit,
Our bond I could have never guessed.
The leap of faith you took with me
While building back your heart anew
Came just in time when I was free--
I like the girl I am with you.
I can scarcely imagine what our future might be,
But with you by my side, I can’t wait to see.

Final Comments:
 For the Love Poem prompt, I knew I wanted my poem to have a more structured and classical
rhythm. Namely, I tried to follow the Petrarchan sonnet form with a variation of the rhyme
scheme. I tried to change it to iambic pentameter, but the lines dragged on much longer than I
wanted them to. Instead, I opted to use four iambs per line.
 In regards to content, I tried to keep it both relevant to my own experience and what I consider
romantic poetry to sound like.

21
 All for Shirtwaists: Draft One

I've already climbed four flights of stairs

And I've four more to go
Three of the elevators are out
As usual
Which means I'm used to this darkness,
This daily traipsing up eight floors, then back down
I suppose it's better than nine or ten
Many of the other girls are walking with me
Several only speak Yiddish or Slovene
But I feel better with company
 
I enter the floor and there are already girls sewing
I need to hurry, the sun is already beginning to rise
I quicken across the large room
Sit at my station
Begin to sort colored fabrics
But the general manager scolds me for being late
I know better than to argue with him
I pick up my scissors and begin
 
It's afternoon now
And you wouldn't know that it's March
By the wetness on our foreheads
Or the stink in the air
Sweat is indistinguishable from cigarette
Smoking isn't allowed here
But this manager often sneaks drags too
So some of the girls are bolder today

22
We continue working
And I continue cutting
Counting down the minutes to break
 
It's nearly five
We can feel it, though the clocks are broken
Many of the girls are joking to one another
Making small talk
Whether its excitement that soon we'll be free
Or the exhaustion from 11 hours of the same task
There is a change in the air
Suddenly there is a scream
And heads swivel
"Fire!"
 
The manager runs to the firehose
Shouting "Stay calm, girls!"
And cranking the knob, or trying to (he’s trying to)
"The damn thing is rusted shut!"
Meanwhile flecks of paper have flared up
And drift around the room, starting smaller flames
That soon catch the scrap piles and ignite
Girls are leaping up and running and screaming now
And I run too, but the door is so far away
 
By the time I reach the dark stairwell again
The upper floors have already begun fleeing
And there is no room in the narrow staircase
Girls are pushing and shrieking and cursing and praying
I force my way in
And struggle towards the lone functioning elevator

23
But its out of service from the heat
And girls are leaping down the elevator shaft
Some return to the stairs and try to flee
But the manager stays put
He stares and murmurs "The factory doors don't unlock 'til five."
 
The flames have engulfed the room now
There is only white heat and screaming
With nowhere else to go
Those still stuck here hurry upstairs
"The fire escape!"
We have only this hope, so we run
 
The ninth floor of the factory isn't engulfed yet
We climb over tables and machines
To the window
And girls frantically rush through the opening
And clamber down
The air here isn't filled with smoke which gives us energy
And fire engines sound alarms below us
But their ladders are too short
Just as I near the window
A sickening clash occurs below
Followed by more screaming that fades
The ladder has broken
And the girls have fallen to the Manhattan street below
 
A hysteric mob of young women
Too young to have even thought of death
Or know the smell of charred flesh
Those left of us run back to the stairwell

24
And climb to the roof in one last attempt
The flames grow taller and the smoke billows higher
In a daze, I walk to the edge of the roof and look down
Girls are jumping, choosing to go on their terms
Firemen are holding nets, but
They're The nets are tearing as the bodies hit
Comments:
What else can we do?
  1. You said “and” a
lot, try and limit
The frenzy of those on the roof settles that.
As we look at one another on the edge
To my left is one of the girls who climbed with me
This morning, a lifetime ago
She smiles at me, sadly, and extends her hand
And I try to smile back and take it
She says something to me, and though I don't understand
I feel her meaning
Until we meet again.
We both turn to the street below us
And jump
 

25
 All for Shirtwaists: Draft Two

I've already climbed four flights of stairs,

And I've four more to go.
Three of the elevators are out,
As usual.
Which means I'm used to this darkness,
This daily traipsing up eight floors, then back down.
I suppose it's better than nine or ten.
Many of the other girls are walking with me this morning.
Several only speak Yiddish or Slovene,
But I feel better with company.
 
I enter the floor, and there are already girls sewing.
I need to hurry; the sun is already beginning to rise.
I quicken across the large room, (hasten? Hurry?)
Sit at my station,
Begin to sort colored fabrics,
But the general manager scolds me for being late.
I know better than to argue with him.
I pick up my scissors and begin.
 
It's afternoon now
And you wouldn't know that it's March
By the wetness on our foreheads
Or the stink in the air.
Sweat is indistinguishable from cigarette
Smoking isn't allowed here
But this manager often sneaks drags too.
So some of the girls are bolder today:

26
We continue working
And I continue cutting
Counting down the minutes to break
 
It's nearly five – Was 5 quitting time in these days?
We can feel it, though the clocks are broken
Many of the girls are joking to one another
Making small talk
Whether it’s excitement that soon we'll be free
Or the exhaustion from 11 hours of the same task.
There is a change in the air,
Suddenly there is a (adjective?) scream
And heads swivel:
"Fire!"
 
The manager runs to the firehose
Shouting "Stay calm, girls!"
And cranking the knob, or tries to,
"The damn thing is rusted shut!"
Meanwhile flecks of paper have flared up
And drift around the room, starting smaller flames
That soon catch the scrap piles and ignite
Girls are leaping up and running and screaming now
And I run too, but the door is so far away
 
By the time I reach the dark stairwell again
The upper floors have already begun fleeing
And there is no room in the narrow staircase
Girls are pushing and shrieking and cursing and praying
I force my way in
And struggle towards the lone functioning elevator

27
But it’s out of service failing from the heat
And girls are leaping down the elevator shaft
Some return Others to the stairs and try to flee
But the manager stays put
He stares and murmurs "The factory doors don't unlock 'til five."
 
The flames have engulfed the room now:
There is only white heat and screaming
With nowhere else to go
Those still stuck here hurry upstairs
"The fire escape!"
We have only this hope, so we run
 
The ninth floor of the factory isn't engulfed yet
We climb over tables and machines – what was manufactured on this floor? specifics would add
realism here
To the window
And girls frantically rush through the opening
And clamber down.
The air here isn't filled with smoke, which gives us energy.
And fire engines sound alarms below us, (what was the term for fire engines then?)
But their ladders are too short.
Just as I near the window
A sickening clash occurs below (crash?)
Followed by more screaming that fades
The ladder has broken
And the girls have fallen to the Manhattan street below
 
A hysteric mob of young women
Too young to have even thought of death
Or know the smell of charred flesh.

28
Those left of us run back to the stairwell
And climb to the roof in one last attempt
The flames grow taller and the smoke billows higher.
In a daze, I walk to the edge of the roof and look down Vivid
Girls are jumping, choosing to go on their terms.
Firemen are holding nets, but
The nets are tearing as the bodies hit.
What else can we do?
 
The frenzy of those on the roof settles
As we look at one another on the edge
To my left is one of the girls who climbed with me
This morning, a lifetime ago.
She smiles at me, sadly, and extends her hand
And I try to smile back and take it
She says something to me, and though I don't understand
I feel her meaning
Until we meet again.
We both turn to the street below us
And jump

29
 All for Shirtwaists: Final Draft

I've already climbed four flights of stairs,

And I've four more to go.
Three of the elevators are out,
As usual.
I'm used to this darkness,
This daily traipsing up eight floors, then back down.
I suppose it's better than nine or ten.
Many of the other girls are walking with me this morning.
Several only speak Yiddish or Slovene,
But I feel better with company.
 
I reach the 8th floor entry, and there are girls busy sewing.
I need to hurry; the sun is already beginning to rise.
My companions hurry further upstairs,
And my heels click rapidly into the main room.
In a rush, I sit at my station
And reach for a pile of colored fabrics,
But the general manager scolds me for being late.
I’ve learned not to argue.
I pick up my scissors and begin.
 
You wouldn't know that it's a March afternoon
By the wetness on our foreheads
Or the stink in the air.
Sweat is indistinguishable from cigarette
Smoking isn't allowed
But this manager often sneaks drags too.
Some of the girls are bolder today,

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Sewing with a Pall Mall in between their fingers.
We continue working
And I continue cutting,
Counting down the minutes to break.
 
It's nearly five
We can feel it, though the clocks are all broken.
Many of the girls are joking to one another,
Making small talk about their families,
And the manager even turns on the radio.
Whether it’s excitement that soon we'll be free
Or the exhaustion from eleven hours of the same task,
There is a tangible change in the air.
Suddenly there is a piercing scream
And heads swivel:
"Fire! There’s a fire!"
 
The manager runs to the nearby firehose,
Then bellows "Stay calm, girls!"
He begins cranking the knob or tries to.
His voice cracks.
"This damn thing is rusted shut!"
In the time he’s taken, flecks of paper have flared
And now drift around the room, starting smaller flames
That soon catch the scrap piles and ignite.
Girls are leaping up, running and screaming now
Tables are knocked over, chairs are shoved away,
The radio clatters to the floor and cuts out.
I jump up and run too, but the door is so far away.
 
By the time I reach the 8th floor entry,

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The word Fire has spread more quickly than the flames.
The upper floors have already begun fleeing,
And there is no room in the narrow staircase.
Girls are pushing and shrieking and cursing and praying.
I force my way in
And struggle towards the last functioning elevator
But it’s already failing from the heat.
Someone has pried the doors open
And girls are leaping down the shaft.
Others scramble to the stairs and try to flee
But the manager stays put
He stares ahead and murmurs "The doors don't unlock 'til five."
“We’re trapped up here.”
 
The flames have engulfed the room now:
There is only white heat and screaming
Those still stuck here hurry further upstairs,
"The fire escape!"
We have only this hope, so we climb.
 
The ninth floor of the factory isn't engulfed yet.
We climb over tables and garment scraps,
Half-finished shirts and still running sewing machines.
We run to the window where
Girls frantically rush through the opening
And begin to clamber down.
The air here isn't filled with smoke, which gives us energy.
And fire engines sound alarms below us,
But their ladders are too short.
Just as I near the window
A sickening creak occurs outside,

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Then a crack,
Followed by more screaming that fades.
The ladder has broken
And the girls have fallen to the Manhattan street below.
 
A hysteric mob of young women,
Too young to have even thought of death
Or know the smell of charred flesh. Final Comments:

Those left of us run back to the stairwell  For the Historical

And climb to the roof in one last attempt. Monologue, I knew I
wanted to write about the
The flames grow taller and the smoke billows higher. Triangle Shirtwaist
In a daze, I walk to the edge of the roof and look down Factory fire. Like the
Poem of Place, I started
Girls are jumping, choosing to go on their terms. with far more
Firemen are holding nets, but information than ended
up in the poem. I took
The nets are tearing as the bodies hit. notes on the event and
What else can we do? first accounts of people
who survived it, and I did
  some research on what
The frenzy of those on the roof settles, regular life was like to
supplement that. I also
And the building beneath us groans tried to mimic what
As we look at one another on the edge language in 1910s New
York City resembled.
To my left is one of the girls who climbed with me  The only note that I
This morning, a lifetime ago. didn’t try to take into
account was the comment
She smiles at me, sadly, and extends her hand to eliminate the closing
And I try to smile back and take it two lines. I don’t think it
sounds right necessarily
She says something to me, and though I don't understand with the rest of the poem,
I feel her meaning but I knew from the start
that I wanted the narrator
Until we meet again. jumping to be the ending
We both turn to the street below us since many girls actually
did jump from the roof.
And jump.

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