

Deuteranopia
for VERNON
What comes to mind when thinking of you:
chestnuts and quartz,
red rectangle sunglasses,
tearing thin plastic.
Snow on pine boughs,
hooded sweatshirts,
army green, Nickelodeon orange.
Pinky ring on your right hand,
your right hand.
What’s life without devotion?
Never at your feet—
but I offer you, darling
my gentlest words:
oak leaves warm with sunlight,
cool on the reverse. Teenage
Mutant Ninja Turtles. March
through June. Dragonflies,
dragon scales, cat-eye marbles,
a tree house with gauzy curtains
in windows, a flag waving from
pitched roof. Fiddleheads.
Subway graffiti, a duvet flipped
diagonally on the corner of a bed.
A paint palette in plein air. Your
half of the mango.
Germinant
I ask myself to find beautiful metaphors
for the gross ugly life sludge
that bothers me. I find a few—
they are fluttering cherry blossoms
but leave a greasy fingerprint
on the page.
I haven’t yet found a metaphor
that describes how clearly I feel
that twenty-four is old but
twenty-six is young.
I’m still searching for prettier words
to say that I’m no longer
a warm seed in the soil,
that I’ve stretched into the sunlight
and wave my leaves in the rain
but I’m still germinant—
can be certain about some things
that I am not
but unsure about what I am—
language that captures my observations
takes more time spent observing.
I pretend that I know my choices are right.
I make to-do lists and finish
nothing. I feel permanent as ink
on the page and then water spills
I talk about myself too much
and give my opinion when no one asked.
I shout into silence
There are words I need to use
but haven’t learned. My echo
sounds nothing like me.
Deuteranopia, originally published in “Frog Songs vol 1” by Isabella Gross (And Then Publishing, 2024)
Apple fruit photo by Elisaih on Unsplash
Isabella Gross received her MFA in poetry from Miami University. She is the founder, editor, and artist for her micro press, And Then Publishing, since 2022. She currently lives in an apartment in Wisconsin, but if the rent were cheaper, she’d very happily live in a ramekin of warm bread pudding.