• Xanadu Literary Magazine

Julianna Pasquarello

Fenced in

I was born to the sounds of the suburbs

White­picket fences

whispering my name.

Ice­cream trucks singing their repetitive


Slowly approaching- Crescendo.

The smells of late­night July barbeques,

roasted corn,

Pop­-97 tunes

singing me to sleep.

I grew up to the sounds of the Laguardia planes,

Watching their twisted


Dancing far off into the expanse- Somewhere, somehow.

Farewell, shows over.

I learned in Elementary school.

The lives of the greats- Napoleon, Da Vinci, Christopher Columbus.

I was told honey, you can be whatever

You want to be.

Travel wherever

You wish

to go if you dream

Hard enough..

I dreamed of sleeping on white airplane wings

Of 1492, sailing the ocean blue,

Of foreign lands, exotic foods.

Only to learn,

That adventure has no time for a woman

In high­heeled shoes.

Picket fence, two children, one dog.

The only song a women

Is told to sing- Is the suburban blues.


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