Honorable mention of the 2024 Contest in Poetry. Read judge V. Penelope Pelizzon’s blurb here.
Confirmation
It was simple. It was April
when you got married. You wore
red carnations on your neckline.
I said you looked pretty. And you did.
When you got married, you wore
your grandmother's opal hair brooch.
I said you looked pretty. And you did.
Your husband shook the Father’s hand.
Your grandmother's opal hair brooch
glinted like streetlights, that night in November
your husband shook your father’s hand.
All of us Saint Mary’s girls going to Lucky's Bar,
glinting like streetlight. That night in November
you licked salt off the back of your hand.
All of us Saint Mary’s girls going to Lucky's Bar,
and I didn't touch you out of fear of going red.
You licked salt off the back of your hand.
I held the shaker a few inches off your skin,
and I didn't touch you out of fear of going red.
"Is this good?" You asked me, later that night.
I held the shaker a few inches off your skin,
It was simple. It was April.
"Is this good?" You asked me, later that night.
Red carnations on your neckline.