Poet of the Month
In the eye of the storm
By Arvilla Fee
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You touched me
where the bruise
was still fresh,
but I didn’t flinch;
I sank into the purple
pool, resigned my fate
because what else
was there to do;
I was no one
without you,
as you’d reminded me
time and time again;
I kept phone numbers
tucked into the lining
of my purse,
tiny cards of hope
slipped to me
by do-gooders;
I took them out
sometimes
held them
like wishing stars
when you were out,
even tracing my fingers
over the lovely digits,
but I won’t call, will I
because you’d know
and I’d never survive
the truth.
The sum of our parts
By Arvilla Fee
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a jagged edge of childhood
butts up, awkwardly, against
lopsided shapes of teenage angst—
and those jam against a pile
of bewildered young adult;
pieces that don’t fit together,
and yet each one makes the whole,
a damaged puzzle still beautiful
in its brokenness, still a picture
of our faces, hands, and feet;
we are each of our experiences,
each of our egg-shell memories,
and the people who have intersected
our wanderings—for better or worse;
certain names are etched in scars,
while other names gently reside
in smile lines etched around our mouth;
the child
the teen
the young adult
shaped today’s woman:
her fragility and strength,
her wounds and recovery,
the woman she touches,
palm-to-palm
in the looking glass.
