KD
  • Home
  • About
    • Contributors List
    • KD's Blog
    • Award Nominations
    • Support
    • Contact
  • Press
  • Issues
    • Issue 49
    • Issue 48
    • Issue 47
    • Issue 46
    • Issue 45
    • Issue 44
    • Issue 43
    • Issue 42
    • Issue 41
    • Issue 40
    • Issue 39
    • Issue 38
    • Issue 37
    • Issue 36
    • Issue 35
    • Issue 34
    • Issue 33
    • Issue 32
    • Issue 31
    • Issue 30
    • Issue 29
    • Issue 28
    • Issue 27
    • Issue 26
    • Issue 25
    • Issue 24
    • Issue 23
    • Issue 22
    • Issue 21
    • Issue 20
    • Issue 19
    • Issue 18
    • Serenity
    • Issue 17
    • The Audio Room
    • Issue 16
    • Issue 15
    • Issue 14
    • Play It Again
    • Issue 13
    • Issue 12
    • Issue 11
    • Issue 10
    • Issue 9
    • Issue 8
    • Issue 7
    • Issue 6
    • Hand to Mouth
    • Issue 5
    • Issue 4
    • Issue 3
    • Issue 2
    • Issue 1
  • Submissions

Jennifer Battisti

Paraphernalia

When I was fifteen, it was the little metal grate
unhinged from each faucet until my father cursed,
Barbasol dripping from his angry jaw,
at the surge I’d created.
 
Soon, Bic pens were emptied
of their circulatory systems.
Naked ink and ball-point were laid out
like cadavers without the shell to house the words.
 
There was relief in the loyalty of chemistry
table-salt swirled in the lightbulb
dissolving fluorescence until alchemy
cleared a space for a small white stone to burn
 
and billow the 40 watts that was once alive to illuminate
measured bleach on weekends. 
There was redemption in the now lonely socket
in the laundry room where my mother would stare— tsk, tsk
 
at another way she’d been ripped off.
She’d question the discrepancies, blackouts;
as if our home was the Hocus Focus cartoon
in the Funny section of the Sunday paper.
 
And then the house began to betray us on its own,
as if I’d crystalized a permission. Carpets plumped
without a known water source, the mailbox shook
with unnamed subscriptions to Popular Mechanics magazine.
 
The wallpaper unspooled, exposing patterns once hushed under
adhesive’s authority, while I played aluminum foil origami;
poked holes with mother’s sewing needle 
into the toilet-paper-roll pipe I’d made--
the prize for ingenuity not fit for the science fair I missed that year.

Biography

Picture
Jennifer Battisti, a Las Vegas native, is the co-director and a participating Teaching Artist for the Alzheimer’s Poetry Project in Clark County. She was voted best local poet or writer by the readers of the Desert Companion. Her chapbook Echo Bay was released in 2018 (Tolsun Books).
back to issue
​Next Poem →
Picture
ISSN 2639-426X
© COPYRIGHT 2018-2021. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
  • Home
  • About
    • Contributors List
    • KD's Blog
    • Award Nominations
    • Support
    • Contact
  • Press
  • Issues
    • Issue 49
    • Issue 48
    • Issue 47
    • Issue 46
    • Issue 45
    • Issue 44
    • Issue 43
    • Issue 42
    • Issue 41
    • Issue 40
    • Issue 39
    • Issue 38
    • Issue 37
    • Issue 36
    • Issue 35
    • Issue 34
    • Issue 33
    • Issue 32
    • Issue 31
    • Issue 30
    • Issue 29
    • Issue 28
    • Issue 27
    • Issue 26
    • Issue 25
    • Issue 24
    • Issue 23
    • Issue 22
    • Issue 21
    • Issue 20
    • Issue 19
    • Issue 18
    • Serenity
    • Issue 17
    • The Audio Room
    • Issue 16
    • Issue 15
    • Issue 14
    • Play It Again
    • Issue 13
    • Issue 12
    • Issue 11
    • Issue 10
    • Issue 9
    • Issue 8
    • Issue 7
    • Issue 6
    • Hand to Mouth
    • Issue 5
    • Issue 4
    • Issue 3
    • Issue 2
    • Issue 1
  • Submissions