two objects

by Celinda Olive

Summer again, my beloved peonies 

the palest of pinks in their petal fleece.

I wash a wine glass under the spotlight 

just above the sink. Junior Kimbrough

lulls in the background in steady 

pulsed blues. It’s a mantra, 

this ominous lyric, “You better run…don’t let him get you…” 

The crystal of the glass, awfully 

clear, kissing the serrated blade like a mandate 

from heaven — and it overwhelms me, 

this terrible, sharp beauty, of living. 

Celinda Olive is a poet residing in the Minneapolis area and holds an MFA in Creative Writing (Poetry) from Seattle Pacific University. She’s a clumsy steward of beauty taking one day at a time.