The Nurse on Percy
with two-toned trunks,
father told us not to go down that street.
brother and I smoked our cigarettes,
father said if he ever caught us on Percy Boulevard,
told us not to smoke.
felt the hit—
saw the nurse, “Florence Nightingale” half naked,
saw our father stop suddenly behind the front door screen
What Was Left
mother watched my father die.
helped her scrape
pressed towels into the rug,
mother cursed the broken top,
The Smell of Alcohol
her fevers reached 105,
rubbed alcohol over her tiny body—
eyes stared at something in the corner:
sits in the passenger seat,
feel her long, strong fingers grip my right hand.
Theresa Edwards is married, has two sons, and is an adjunct writing instructor and tutor at Marist College. Her poetry has appeared in Pitkin Review, Chronogram, conatus, and The Spoken Wheel, one of her short stories published in The Mosaic. She has written musical compositions, including work for mixed media, and has finished a novella, titled The Ride. Theresa holds a B.S. (cum laude) in Music, Mercy College; a Professional Artist Diploma—Music Theory and Composition, Westchester Conservatory of Music; an M.A. in English, Western Connecticut State University; and will complete an M.F.A. in Creative Writing, Goddard College, next July. She was coeditor of Pitkin Review's spring 2006 issue.
2006, Theresa Edwards. ©
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