Emily Vizzo is a writer and educator. She previously covered Congress for the Scripps Howard News Service in Washington, D.C., and has written on topics including the San Diego biotech industry, corporate social justice, surf, the arts, education, business, and health. Her essay, "A Personal History of Dirt," was honored as a notable essay in Best American Essays 2013, and she was selected for inclusion within Best New Poets 2015. Her poems have been nominated for Best of the Net in 2015, 2016, and 2017. She has completed a novel, represented by Caroline Eisenmann and Ellen Geiger at Frances Goldin Literary Agency. Her chapbook, GIANTESS, is forthcoming from YesYes Books in 2018. She has six sisters, two brothers, and three nephews. She comes from a family line of farmers, plumbers, and factory workers. Emily has a thing for islands, and lives in California.




Emily Vizzo

Her terrible tongue, the imperfections

Carefully, the way a butcher knows the knife. I buried my vagina along with a steel whisk. The Valentine pushing into my underwear. Odd-tongued. Many-onioned. The onion field that would be unsexed. The bed within the bed. Bald animal, wet mouse. Sunless nectarine, one you could hold in the dark with both hands. Later in the shower I looked bruised, looked petunia-white. She said I was beautiful. No one made me crouch on all fours. I did it because I wanted to. And then she was done. There is no such thing as sexual negotiation, only its theater. What terror do you know? There is agreement in agreement, that is the basic thing.



Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.