Sara Blazevic
First tomato
Juliana’s taste when I kissed her
in the sweet peas
Our first tomato of the season
She wrapped it in an evergreen ribbon
We read books in bed about
duck breeding, zootomy,
lobotomy, Chagall
I carried stakes and twine, cloth ties
for the pepper trellis
sun-wet arms
beet-bloodied cuticles
When I was younger I sheared the hems
off all my clothes
so everyone could see I was fraying
Juliana keeps a bag of scraps
collars and cuffs found or discarded
fragments, thread to twist
her dizzy fingers
round and
we lie in bed, we make secret plans
to grow
sweet potatoes
and spinach, and tomatoes
We make plans
for secret chickens and secret cows
tattoos for our olive topography
Secret rows of American corn
All her bug bite scars and hard thighs
beautiful and perfect
butterfly fuzz on her upper lip
eyes shut she is
a highway resting inside of me
and my heartbeat makes
the frozen cars quiver.
Sara Blazevic has roots in Rome, New York, and Croatia. She lives, writes, binds books, and loses things outside of Philadelphia for most of the year. Her poetry and photographs have appeared in the Newport Review.
Return to November 2012 Edition
Juliana’s taste when I kissed her
in the sweet peas
Our first tomato of the season
She wrapped it in an evergreen ribbon
We read books in bed about
duck breeding, zootomy,
lobotomy, Chagall
I carried stakes and twine, cloth ties
for the pepper trellis
sun-wet arms
beet-bloodied cuticles
When I was younger I sheared the hems
off all my clothes
so everyone could see I was fraying
Juliana keeps a bag of scraps
collars and cuffs found or discarded
fragments, thread to twist
her dizzy fingers
round and
we lie in bed, we make secret plans
to grow
sweet potatoes
and spinach, and tomatoes
We make plans
for secret chickens and secret cows
tattoos for our olive topography
Secret rows of American corn
All her bug bite scars and hard thighs
beautiful and perfect
butterfly fuzz on her upper lip
eyes shut she is
a highway resting inside of me
and my heartbeat makes
the frozen cars quiver.
Sara Blazevic has roots in Rome, New York, and Croatia. She lives, writes, binds books, and loses things outside of Philadelphia for most of the year. Her poetry and photographs have appeared in the Newport Review.
Return to November 2012 Edition