by Kathryn Petruccelli
turn deity, blessing the humble
and the corrupt with color—
the car wash, the Dunkin Donuts anointed
by proximity, baptized in rain
of copper coinlets, small crimson flags
plentiful in their sanctifying, fixated on one end
of the rainbow,
splash of shiny gold, perfect shade of creamsicle.
Intent on raising the profane world from its broken knees, the trees’
immolation in parking lots, illumination
of abandoned gas stations, selfless in the way they show favor
to construction site,
offer benediction to office building.
Maybe you’ve seen it happen, too. Just before the leaving,
before the final letting go,
how a space grows holy—a brilliance
you hadn’t known
could arrive to an ordinary life. Grocery store
driveway—consecrated ground
scattered
in maple and gingko.
::
Kathryn Petruccelli is a Pushcart-, Best of the Net-, and Best Small Fictions-nominated poet with roots in spoken word and a degree in teaching English language learners. Her poetry has appeared in places like the Poet Lore, Tinderbox, Whale Road Review, RHINO, and About Place Journal. You can find her prose at places like SweetLit, Switch, Fictive Dream, The Los Angeles Review, and Wrong Turn Lit. Kathryn recently relocated with her family to the west of Ireland which she enjoys greatly besides missing her former job as tour guide at the Emily Dickinson Museum. She teaches online, pay-what-you-can workshops and writes about how poetry shows up in our daily lives at her Substack newsletter, Ask the Poet. More at poetroar.com.
Image: Hongwei FAN
ID: a branch with yellow ginkgo leaves.
Psaltery & Lyre 