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Jennifer Small Poem
Street Signs
Before books, there were directives.
STOP in lacquered red.
ONE WAY like doctrine.
Language hung above us—
bright, declarative,
impossible to ignore.
On corners where pigeons argued with wind,
metal decided who belonged:
Harlem. Broadway. Houston.
We inherited arrows
before we inherited choice.
Somewhere between
NO STANDING ANYTIME
and WALK,
we learned to move anyway.
Copyright © Jennifer Small | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Jennifer Small Poem
What I Would Tell My Fourteen-Year-Old Self
You are not late to your becoming.
The mirror is a passing witness.
Loneliness will unclench its hands.
Your tears are training you in courage.
Keep every page you ache to write.
Those words will anchor your pulse.
No one gets to measure your worth.
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
Contest Title: ONE ON ONE WITH MYSELF Poetry Contest
Date of Poem: February 18, 2026
Category: OTHER
Copyright © Jennifer Small | Year Posted 2026
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