Glass Poetry Press

Volume Three Issue Two

Glenn Ashley Paterson

Inside Elizabeth

The promise of El, the source of flora, fauna, and fire — like the gift of an empty rattle or a broken bone. This, you were given. The tears that you gather like washed seashells or pearls of glass from between your thighs — collect them in a Mason jar and hold them up to the light once at the genesis of the lunar cycle, and once at the close — which is really the beginning, anyhow. Twirl them around and listen to each one splash against the glass and against its sister, more deafening than an ocean squall. Remind yourself to cherish the sculpture of your fingertips and the paint that bleeds from them.