Sam Hopkins

  • Rubus
    In class, we discussed
    berries, different types of
    raspberries and blackberries—
    their similarities and differences.

    I don’t like blackberries,
    the way their seeds crunch—
    get stuck between my teeth.
    Raspberries are juicier, sweeter.

    Blackberries are red
    before they become ripe.
    Black raspberries are
    the same color as
    ripe blackberries.
    If black raspberries
    are dark in color,
    should they taste
    like blackberries; if they
    are named raspberry,
    should they taste like
    raspberries.

    Bramble, a name used for both
    blackberries and raspberries—
    the two taste different and
    not knowing how to tell them apart
    makes the difference between
    enjoying them and missing them.
    I want to know the similarities,
    the differences, watch them
    grow and mature.  

  • Intense Auburn
    Behind a veil,
    I no longer remember
    I was a shy girl
    [with boring brown hair].
    I feel bright, more fun, more free.
    I can act as someone else,
    anybody I want to become.
    Anybody who is not
    who I was. I let you take my hand
    in yours, lead me from my friends
    and we talk as if I’m yours,
    and you are mine.
    I am not myself anymore,
    I am now who I have become—
    but not just anybody.
    Transformed, you notice—
    not just my hair color.
    Even in the poor light, I’m
    better, new, improved.
    I fit into your life,
    among the beautiful and unique
    photographs that line your walls—
    the dancers on stage, the girl
    jumping into a river, a self portrait
    you took while hanging brightly colored
    paper cranes from a tree.
    The only thing left between us,
    is the camera lens. 

  • A Few of My Truths:
    A Response to Kyle Carrozza
    My name is Samantha Noel. I was born in Red Bank, New Jersey. I moved to Pennsylvania. My name is Sam.
    * * *
    Her Father was adopted. When everyone shared their nationalities in elementary school, mostly German, she never knew what to say. Her Mother was mostly Italian so she would always say that even though it was not the full truth. She was upset she didn’t know.
    * * *
    guido – a derogatory term for an Italian-American once again made popular by MTV’s Jersey Shore.
    * * *
    She would have fist pumped at the party but she didn’t want to perpetuate the stereotype. All of her friends danced as they liked and thought she should have too.
    * * *
    While planning her return she contemplated whether or not she would need a translator. It was New Jersey, after all, and she would want to talk to her Mother.
    * * *
    Her Mother told her to respond, “I am an American, what are you?” Her Mother also still used the word groovy. 
    * * *
    Her friends were offended she held back on the dance floor.
    * * *
    I just met him. He was born in South Korea but adopted by a family in the United States. He told me all about talking muffins. He loved talking muffins. Was fascinated with talking muffins. 
    * * *
    The setup and the punchline: New Jersey.
     * * *
    I dreamed I was an elephant. I was eating an ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles. I did not know elephants liked ice cream or where my human form had gone. The sprinkles dripped to the ground—I couldn’t eat them fast enough. So there I was. 

  • A Few of My Truths:
    A Response to Kyle Carrozza
    My name is Samantha Noel. I was born in Red Bank, New Jersey. I moved to Pennsylvania. My name is Sam.
    * * *
    Her Father was adopted. When everyone shared their nationalities in elementary school, mostly German, she never knew what to say. Her Mother was mostly Italian so she would always say that even though it was not the full truth. She was upset she didn’t know.
    * * *
    guido – a derogatory term for an Italian-American once again made popular by MTV’s Jersey Shore.
    * * *
    She would have fist pumped at the party but she didn’t want to perpetuate the stereotype. All of her friends danced as they liked and thought she should have too.
    * * *
    While planning her return she contemplated whether or not she would need a translator. It was New Jersey, after all, and she would want to talk to her Mother.
    * * *
    Her Mother told her to respond, “I am an American, what are you?” Her Mother also still used the word groovy. 
    * * *
    Her friends were offended she held back on the dance floor.
    * * *
    I just met him. He was born in South Korea but adopted by a family in the United States. He told me all about talking muffins. He loved talking muffins. Was fascinated with talking muffins. 
    * * *
    The setup and the punchline: New Jersey.
     * * *
    I dreamed I was an elephant. I was eating an ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles. I did not know elephants liked ice cream or where my human form had gone. The sprinkles dripped to the ground—I couldn’t eat them fast enough. So there I was. 

  • Colorwheel
    The world is shades
    of grays and blues and whites
    and the sun stays hidden
    inside a snow globe.
    And the vibrance of your pet canary
    is concealed in a cage,
    under a white blanket.

    I long for days when sunlight
    penetrates the dust
    and gleams through the window,
    shining on us. I need the gray, blue and white
    to transform and become warm.
    I want the clouds to dissipate—
    scatter into smaller
    and smaller
    pieces,
    until they disappear all together.

    Instead, we sit on opposite
    sides of your room—
    looking through old textbooks
    that were sitting on your parent’s shelves
    torn and frayed for years
    before we were even born.
    We want to find some truth in
    outdated mathematics and science.
    We need something nonfiction to
    make sense for once.
    The only noise is the turning of pages,
    the quiet twittering of the canary
    you kept in a cage all winter.

    You carry your book
    across the room to where I am.
    I look up at the still gray window—
    “I’ll show you my colorwheel,”
    you say. You pull a bright red pen
    out of your pocket and crack
    the hard plastic covering and then
    tear into the tube of ink
    and the ink flows down the page
    of the old textbook you hold.

    The grays and blues and whites
    change to a vivid red
    and you let the canary fly
    from his cage.

  • Charlie
    Charlie

  • Perfection
    I am too rough
    and blood rushes
    from my cuticles,
    drips over my jagged
    fingernails.

    I gnaw on them,
    biting down hard
    uneven edges.
    I stretch skin,
    pulling ferociously
    and tear it away,
    severing the tips
    of my fingers.

    I try harder to even out
    nail tips, trim down cuticles,
    my manicure,
    the turquoise polish,
    spotted with dried blood.