Bethany Jarmul
After a Rain, I Discover
the underbelly of a maple leaf,
a canvas the clouds splattered
with rain-paint. Each orb reflects
a tiny world. Several cling to the midrib
& veins like glass snails resting
on their slow journey home.
One misshapen drop dives headfirst
into the ever-present green, passed
from mother grass to daughters,
into the greedy ground. Once I dreamt
I dove off the edge of earth. I broke
into shards, dissolved into mist.
Root hairs draw in the droplet,
fueling arms littered with leaves.
When I woke, I found myself
whole, but translucent—
a once muddy window
penetrated by a sunbeam.
Essence of Adolescence
a golden shovel using a line from Li-Young Lee
I was 14 & lean, learning a different kind of hunger
a hunger that made my body needy & vacant
like a seedling in sun-baked soil waiting for a drop of
survival to sink from the sky. But I didn’t know that love
could either satisfy or poison, incubate or slaughter. Is
growing up always like a slap on the ass from a
boy who once shared his blueberries—a bittersweet confusion?
It’s Cliché to Wish for World Peace, So Instead I’ll Ask
for empathy to spread like dandelion seeds,
blown from our lips down to our fingertips,
sprouting new roots in every dirt-covered corner
of my newsfeed. For an end to collisions
everywhere, but especially on Route 8—
when we tuck our kids into bed,
the weee-wooo, weee-wooo of the sirens
travels closer and closer to home, covering
the wind’s howl, the branches cracking
under snow. For every bully to melt
like an icicle dagger into a warm puddle,
especially at my son’s school, where he’s learning
to tie his shoes and count by twos and pledge
his allegiance. For endless quiet
days on the radio, instead of the local DJ
reporting this week’s school shooting
in Alabama or California or Wisconsin
or on the other side of our city, as I drive
with my children in the backseat,
their Minnie Mouse and Spiderman
backpacks at their feet.
Bethany Jarmul is an Appalachian writer and poet. She’s the author of two chapbooks, and her debut poetry collection Lightning Is a Mother is available now with ELJ Editions. Her work has been published in many magazines including Rattle, Brevity, HAD, and Salamander. Her writing was selected for Best Spiritual Literature 2023 and Best Small Fictions 2024, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, The Best of the Net, Best Microfiction, and Wigleaf Top 50. Connect with her at bethanyjarmul.com or on social media: @BethanyJarmul
