Poetry By Bree Bailey

Kyle Pearce CC




I Was Twelve When She Threw Her First Shoe 


Straight off the roof of a third-floor Section 8 rented apartment
The North Newark street lamplights glittered back in the sun’s late purple bruised kiss
I couldn’t understand a single word my single mother was rattling
Her grief turned paranoia turned decades of pain painting a ball of fists and bills
And government spies in her beautiful tortured gooey brain
Enough to chuck all of my shoes over the roof 
and onto the abandoned spirited building’s next to ours,

They have wires in these,
They will know and they will take you away from me.

I couldn’t understand “what” “they” weren’t supposed to know,
but I gathered as best as I could
more of my bigger-sized shoes and even 
some of my dead brothers’ in my pre-teen arms,

Here, mama, I’ll throw these. 
You go inside. We’re safe.

I got so good at throwing whatever she needed discarded. 
I never stopped for a break.

​


Bree Bailey (she/her) is a queer Latina poet, a mistress of the music of inflections, pulses, and ironic punny chuckles. A Newark, New Jersey native now residing in Austin, TX, she writes with heart and humor about mental health, love, and resilience. A former educator, Bree wrapped up her first US poetry tour in the Fall of 2025 for her debut poetry collection, Wailing on Whisper Street, which won the Jack McCarthy Book Prize with Write Bloody and is out everywhere you buy books. Find her in Exposition Review, West Trade Review, Remington Review, and more. Follow @breebaileypoetry or visit breebaileypoetry.com.


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