2 Poems Published in Epiphany Magazine
Two poems featured in Epiphany Magazine’s Fall/Winter 2023 issue #31
“Lavender”
“Glass”
Read and purchase issue here: Fall/Winter 2023 issue
“a shutter moves
faster than a hummingbird’s
memory:
a flower, a lick a click, a kick
a diaphragm at rest
one eye closed.”
R.J. Petteway, “Lavender”
Glass
the first time, it took four days to remove the glass
from my fingertips, each spoonful of cereal a glass detector
each miniature red can of cold grapefruit juice
bittersweet reprieve, reminder: we gathered
from great grandma Delphia’s fridge, her house
slippers sliding across golden linoleum, veiny hands –
the kind children fear to shake or disappoint
(the kind nurses like, i’ve learned since)
i remember them: the kind that peeled silver tabs
so that i might drink, cool and heal my stinging hands
hers were the kind that prayed and planted rose bushes
split perforated graham crackers without looking
and we looked, oh how we looked, to show our childish love
crossing streets and train tracks, trespassing glass factory
how we looked in our curls and star-kissed glow, looking
out for each other among fragment and fracture
how many treasures we found in those piles of mistakes
cracked and broken, zig-zagging lines and bubbles, dust
how many mother's day gifts we conjured
peanut butter caked beneath uncut nails, giddy
bloody fingerprints signing our joy on vases or jars
or platters, or whatever was intended before its maker bailed tossed it
to a pile where children in grape-jelly-stained tank tops
foraged for magic – smoked and frosted were the best
purple and red, blue and green swirl with unbroken lips
flecks of sunrise orange rising to greet our joyful eyes
we cut our tiny brown hands over and over to give
fresh-plucked dandelion a home, a refractive death
that made mothers and aunties and grandmothers smile
as if they knew all along that we, too, were taken from that pile
that god chipped all of our edges – that we may cut
the untrained hands that come for us
//
swear, to this day i've never bought a vase
i drink rum and whisky and gin ‘til it’s gone
place myself in hollowed bottles, scars and shards
below the rim, and wait for someone to try me
blue is a whole mood.
done correctly
a bruise
has umami.
R.J. Petteway, “Lavender”