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Emma Buoni

Blue glass in my grandmother’s window  

Meant to catch ghosts in the act  

She believes dead children wander the halls 

Of a one story Cleveland home built in 1979 


Oven cooked clay charm on frayed rubber  

The parchment paper set on fire in the oven  

The pupil is blown and has seen the depths of hell 

A concussed guardian to protect from petty hands 


Keychain purchased at a gift shop 

In Daytona beach even though I was working at the time of the vacation 

Now when I drive home 

Through sundown towns as the sun is going down 

It stares at my knees and warns me against braking too hard 


Multicolored glass beaded bracelet  

Purchased for discount at a festival  

Only a few eyes are the true blue  

The rest stay lifeless like spots on moths wings 

But still wink at me in sunlight 

Like they know a clever joke they refuse to tell 


Collecting eyes like cursed treasures that stares me down so no one else does 

There are eyes everywhere 

In the windows, my golden earrings, my thrifted shirts, in my mirror 

My grandmother’s eye in the window stares, seeing no ghosts 

Just me, transparent and tiny. 

It sees me, all of me, and I’m thankful and horrified. 

Spring 2024

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