Stella Corso



We were on our way again

we were going somewhere
or so I hoped

you were driving
I said I know of a place

where three states touch

I touched Vermont
and it disappeared

I looked to you
and felt a metaphor empty

I said the weather is as it should be
my pleasure comes in degrees

I feel hostile in a damp state
and angered by wind

you were on your phone

I was kicking
pebbles from cement

small and roundish
pink in nature

and in New Hampshire
it rained






The house winked at me

but I was afraid to go in
he tried to grasp the concept

but it rolled away

he moves easily through the day
and through the town

and this is what drives me

in a slow car from hell
in circles around his neighborhood

from time to time

and from town to town
how one bleeds quickly into the next

despite the signs
the townspeople know

but will never tell

when you find you are thirsty
you have already been thirsty






The opal is optimal

it sometimes finds its home
in a buried shell, a bone
or ancient log

it is optical
because it does not show its true colors

you cannot look at it straight on
you must look at it from every angle

Consequently, fewer gemstones suffer more
than the opal

though you could say it doesn’t feel pain

but to measure pain is tricky
it is always moving

you must be careful when approaching the pain
as if from behind






I saw a ruby in the flesh

and the wound it took
to put it there

I screamed and screamed at it

still it gleamed and went around
terrorizing men

seducing their senses
causing wars of origin

finally I smashed the thing

I pulverized it into a fine powder
I fed the powder to a dying priest

I forced it down the throat of a king
I smeared it into the tear ducts of a prince

then scattered the rest over water
on a whim

and I tell you, that thing
it still had a face


Stella Corso is a poet and performer living in Western Mass. She is a founding member of the Connecticut River Valley Poets Theater (CRVPT) and also performs with Xfinity Theater.