Paper Doll

poems by

Alissa Sammarco

ISBN: 978-1-964277-66-0, 64 pages, $14 (+ shipping)

Release Date: February 17, 2026

The Advance Sale Discount on this title has expired. For those who prefer to pay by check, the price is $19/book (which includes shipping & sales tax) and should be sent to: Main Street Rag, 12180 Skyview Drive, Edinboro, PA 16412. 

PLEASE NOTE: Ordering in advance of the release date entitles the buyer to a discount. It does not mean the book will ship before the date posted above and the price only applies to copies ordered through the Main Street Rag Online Bookstore.

Alissa Sammarco is an Italian American writer and attorney. Her journey has taken her from Upstate New York to Southern California and to the Carolinas before returning home to Ohio. Alissa’s poems paint pictures of the extraordinary that exists in everyday moments. In addition to her law practice and writing, Alissa curated art exhibits between 2012 and 2017. In 2023, Alissa’s poems were featured with the art of her mother, Melissa Sammarco (Deceased 2017), in two ekphrastic shows at Art Beyond Boundaries and Washington Park Art Gallery in Cincinnati. Moon Landing Day, Alissa’s third chapbook, won the International Impact Book Award in 2025. You can find her poems in many online and print journals including The Main Street Rag, Sheila-Na-Gig, Stone Canoe, Black Moon Magazine, Quiet Diamonds, VIA: Voices in Italian Americana, Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, and elsewhere. She has published 5 books: The Waiting Room (Turning Point 2025), Cupcake Day (Turning Point 2024), Moon Landing Day (Finishing Line Press 2024), I See Them Now (Turning Point 2024), and Beyond the Dawn (Turning Point 2023).

You should buckle up before reading Alissa Sammarco’s new book, Paper Doll. The poems in this book present a tempestuous and complicated love relationship that lasts several years from development to aftermath. The poems are rich and layered in language and yet retain a rawness that is real. The poet understands the complexity of love from all angles. The poetry digs in and often surprise awaits you. The title poem is masterful. ~Jerry Judge

In Paper Doll, Sammarco’s poems are lip gloss and bourbon, raindrops and compost, the sun on her skin as she rides in a “1970 Ford Thunderbird—Thanks for the Ride, Baby!” convertible. Desire spills from “Rose Petals,” regret from “The Weekend.” In her titular poem “Paper Doll,” she writes I fold in half, / a paper doll / holding hands with myself. This collection will stretch out to hold hands with you. ~Dianne Borsenik, NightBallet Press

These poems have a weight like stones in your hands. They sing of transgression and regret, and the feel of the past giving a final tug. So many wonderful moments here that are specific and sensory. The poems in Alissa Sammarco’s new collection, Paper Doll, have the feel and scent of flesh and earth – and are the opposite of what the title suggests as they are more pulsing than parchment cutouts could ever be. ~Nicholas Korn | Poet of The Wild Sonnets

Sweet Honey Wildflowers

I wanted to be a boy,
cutoff shorts and bare feet,
pin the head of a snake with my stick,
pinch crawdads out of the creek,
and fossils washed out from shale walls.

I never wanted to be a girl,
honeysuckle sweet
along the edges of meadows
where the north and south and east and west
meet.

I pretended not to notice
the thorns’ warning that blackberries
leaves perse stains on fingers and lips.

I pretended not to notice
the way you look lying next to me,
your t-shirt soaked and salty.
I pretended words didn’t hurt
as much as the back of a hand.
If only I had been a boy
with all the power
to make a girl
cry.

I Got My Inspiration at The Walmart

Where else would real life unfold
other than the Walmart on the floodplain
by the railroad tracks
where I used to shop for records,
the original discount store?

I bought Beatles records, and spun
the White Album and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts,
needle scratching grooves.
Where else I could go to see Fat Bottom Girls
on Bicycles while Queen rode
through Bohemian Rhapsody?

No, kiss me under the bleachers,
behind the dumpster, in the backseat
of a Chevy at the drive-in.
Giant creatures battling for domination
and your hand slipped over my breast
and maybe south of there.

But the Walmart still has McDonald’s,
and blue jeans rumpled on the shelves,
and fake Nike sneakers,
and orange cheese puffs,
and Coca-Cola,
and you,

tucked in the pocket
of my blue jean jacket.

let me

pour you one last
in this cheap paisano glass
in the morning we will sit
drinking juice in silence
but tonight let me sing songs
let me croon in silky sounds
let me dance close so you can

smell the citrus scent of youth
at the crook of my neck
the taste of bourbon on my breath
spinning back time to when
my waist was small and my bosom fine
let me pour you another
let me lead you to bed

music drifting up the stairs
like a breeze lifting my slip
filling sails so tall ships
can seek treasure on islands
where we go when we sleep