POETRY BY VIRGINIA LAURIE

Outside Alton Lennon 

I mistake a droid for an Angel 

above the river’s pastel shutters.

I ask it nothing in my language.

Then it leaves nothing behind

but a tugboat already tugging.  I

don’t want to forget the way your

fingers—fields of wheat.


Scrape that shit right off 

Now that your ideal is crucified, I can thank you 

for introducing me to crumpets, to the edge 

 

pieces of your soul, for your wine. California 

will curl your tongue. You will live among grapes. 

Thank you for sweet nothings on the pilled pillow, 

they were not nothing to me. They are still the bitter  

fruits of my pillow, and the sweat-stained realization 

of the butterfly. Matter-of-fact, like clay.  

The speed at which  

my heart burst still astounds me,  

and I study it like I’m a scientist,  

or basketball player  

who spends the big game  

untying his own shoes.

Fact-Check 

We have hurt one another 

On purpose 

Limoncello is the best La Croix 

La Croix is not as tasty  

as alcohol 

I have been hurt  

And am sick with it  

Lemons are sweeter than clay 

Words can console  

but not enough 

Clay is more malleable than sunlight There is no air 

We do not share 

Virginia Laurie

(she/her) is a visual artist born and raised in Raleigh, North Carolina. She has lived in Wilmington for three years while pursuing an MFA in poetry and teaching creative writing courses at UNCW. She loves plosive words and her fat cat Pumpkin. Find more of her work at www.virginialaurie.com or follow her on insta @virginialaurie

Cover photo by EVGENIY KONEV on Unsplash