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"Glass Poem" and "Spring Poem"

by Imani (they/them/theirs)


Untitled–Spring Poem, 2022


This spring i watched the magnolias bloom

young buds stretching eagerly towards a thawing sky

I held the blossoms, picked the petals,

Their softness whispered life into dry palms

I drank tea from these pink magnolias, poured it out onto my altar

My face in the mirror, i saw a shadow clear

Grief lying hidden rose from my skin, floral taste soaking up heavy tears

I am on every surface that has touched me

My abuela used to sew white gloves, crocheted lace doilies

Needle and thread delicate as these spring petals

Arthritic hands blanketed mine, her voice lingers in my periphery

When does a story come back to you?


 

Glass Poem


I was supposed to be made of glass

Something smooth and delicate

Transferring light into an array of color


A prism


I once read this story about a glass woman with a glass child


Their veins and arteries drew intricate patterns through their limbs and torsos and


sometimes I want to be like that, too


On cold winter nights my glass fingertips would frost over

Diamonds on diamonds of snowflakes sticking

heart beating steadily, warm in this cold

My glass body could spend the night in snow silence


Ethereal


In the spring my see-through palms magnify the tree buds


Grass brushing my glass skin

Nothing to hide


My shadow would simply be an outline of myself


A glass body requires care:

Wash your hands first

Don’t leave fingerprints

They will stay after you leave


Markable


I was supposed to be made of glass but instead i am stone


I mean this to say:

Do not take me lightly

I am more than the surface


Clear