Siobhan Casey | The Lemon
is a still
life halved
on the cutting board,
three seeds
scoop- dropped in the trash.
Years ago, I was the softest
part of this fruit:
my presence sliced
/ and quartered / slung
over the edge
of a glass, garnish
at the bar
where I served
and knocked back vodka tonics.
Yesterday I almost wrote
my body is a lemon
on the medical clipboard.
Instead, I checked
the box { }
for type one diabetes,
my belly laced
with plastic tubing,
vial of insulin
ripest when kept cold
in a box next to the butter.
Today, I am teaching
my daughter
how to exhale
and form the letter
“h,” for hat or happiness,
whichever she prefers to wear.
She taps her fingertips together,
in the sign for “more.”
“More what?,” I want to know
and she points
to the dahlias, the porcelain ducks,
makes a tinsel! sound with her tambourine.
I press my own fingers together
in a mantra: I am
the flower and the tree,
the hands
that rub her clean,
and if she asks if I have ever
been rejected I will say yes
I have been
soured, bursting yellow
from the sprout, better
left for later / long after /
the apple and avocado
have gone to waste.
life halved
on the cutting board,
three seeds
scoop- dropped in the trash.
Years ago, I was the softest
part of this fruit:
my presence sliced
/ and quartered / slung
over the edge
of a glass, garnish
at the bar
where I served
and knocked back vodka tonics.
Yesterday I almost wrote
my body is a lemon
on the medical clipboard.
Instead, I checked
the box { }
for type one diabetes,
my belly laced
with plastic tubing,
vial of insulin
ripest when kept cold
in a box next to the butter.
Today, I am teaching
my daughter
how to exhale
and form the letter
“h,” for hat or happiness,
whichever she prefers to wear.
She taps her fingertips together,
in the sign for “more.”
“More what?,” I want to know
and she points
to the dahlias, the porcelain ducks,
makes a tinsel! sound with her tambourine.
I press my own fingers together
in a mantra: I am
the flower and the tree,
the hands
that rub her clean,
and if she asks if I have ever
been rejected I will say yes
I have been
soured, bursting yellow
from the sprout, better
left for later / long after /
the apple and avocado
have gone to waste.
Siobhan Casey earned her MFA in poetry from Chatham University in 2011. She has worked as an editor on Weave Magazine and her work has been published in Blood Orange Review, Coal Hill Review, and Rougarou. She is currently working on an inclusive special education degree in Boston. In her free time, she loves to grow orchids and chase her dog and daughter up and down the coastline.
Matthew Fertel is a Sacramento-based photographer who has worked in the Photography department at Sierra College since 2004. Before that, he was a fine art auction house catalog photographer in San Francisco for over 10 years.
Matthew's current work focuses on capturing the minutiae he encounters in his daily life. He seeks to expose the hidden beauty in the everyday objects that make up the landscape of our existence. Going to the same locations over days, months and years allows him to capture images under different lighting and weather conditions, and to see objects change over long or short periods of time. There is art hidden everywhere if you learn to see it.
Learn more at his website and on Instagram.
Matthew's current work focuses on capturing the minutiae he encounters in his daily life. He seeks to expose the hidden beauty in the everyday objects that make up the landscape of our existence. Going to the same locations over days, months and years allows him to capture images under different lighting and weather conditions, and to see objects change over long or short periods of time. There is art hidden everywhere if you learn to see it.
Learn more at his website and on Instagram.