by Emily Corwin
Today my grandmother wants to show me
what she can see—“This blanket,”
she says, the trill of her tongue rippling,
“is green!” and throws it over her head
like a parachute in gym class, a living sheet
of color that she runs beneath.
Since the surgery, her kitchen table
is thick with six kinds of eye-drops,
but she makes space for the sunflowers
we bring. “Wait here,” she says,
a hand on my shoulder, and comes back
with an embroidered brocade dress suit,
bought for a cousin’s wedding
that fell through last October.
“This is green too!”—delight falling
from her mouth—“I couldn’t believe it!”
My mother smirks, elbows me and says,
“She can wear this to your wedding, right?”
My grandma stops, forgetting
the show and tell, her voice all too serious, “Oh no,
no, she is so young, way too young,”
her new eyes taking me in.
Emily Corwin is a recent graduate of the College of Wooster, with a Bachelor of Arts in English and Film Studies. She has been published in Bluestem Magazine and Scholastic’s The Best Teen Writing of 2009, and was recognized her senior year with the Grace Prize in Poetry from Wooster’s English Department. She currently works as a graduate teaching assistant at Miami University, where she teaches freshman composition.
lipstickparty magazine has also published Emily’s poem, “For Girls Who Eat Alone at Panera.“