I am honored to announce that three of my poems have been published in Lightwork Literary Journal, Volume 1: April 2023.
Featured works include "Spring Greetings", written in collaboration with Kate Lewis and Clara Nick, "A Brief History of My Toes", and "Wisdom Teeth". I am incredibly grateful to have been published alongside many other incredible undergraduate students in the first volume of Old Dominion University's first-ever literary journal.
If you would like to read the journal, please visit the Lightwork Literary Journal website. If you are outside of the Old Dominion University community, you may have to request access to view the publication.
For your convenience, I have included the three poems selected for publication below.
Spring Greetings
by Isabel Butler, Kate Lewis, and Clara Nick
Yellow
daffodils
reach toward the sky.
The bright sun reaches back.
Hello!
A Brief History of My Toes
by Isabel Butler
When I was born, you knew I was my father’s daughter by the look of my toes. They were his
inheritance to me—along with poor eyesight in the third grade, the absolute necessity to always
be on time, and a couple of crooked teeth. My toes have a look about them that says I’d know
those toes anywhere, yet in an inoffensive way. Larger on top with an elegant curve between
each joint and a little tuft of hair. Sort of masculine looking for a girl? Thankfully the tuft is
blonde and fine and totally definitely absolutely not growing more and more noticeable every
year.
As a kid, I used to splay my toes when I was bored—each digit a baby bean sprout desperately
pushing past the confines of where my mother rooted them. When not squashed into their little
garden beds, I indulged in the sight of each toe sliding up and out into the atmosphere, kissing
little air particles previously out of reach. The splay always curled downward, arching up and
over to let my pinky toe kiss the ground and my big toe reach for the sun.
My pediatrician once caught me doing this little routine during an annual checkup—or what my
mother still calls a well baby—and was bewildered by the fact that I could. His face had a look
about it that said I delivered you from the womb, I’d know those toes anywhere and yet he balked
at the sight before him.
“How do you do that, that thing with your toes?”
“I don’t know. I just always have.”
Wisdom Teeth
By Isabel Butler
My tummy is aching.
Broken gums
Broken flesh
Blood sliding down my tongue
Dripping down my throat
A waterslide
Filling me up
I’m scared to go under
Heard a story once of a girl who swallowed
So much blood
That it filled her stomach whole
Drowned
I worry every time
I open my mouth
I’ll start drowning
I worry every time
I let you back in
I’ll start drowning
Anesthesia is a scary thing
But not as scary as you
Maybe you should be the one to worry
Convinced that you’re floating
Convinced that you’re safe
But one day you’ll go under
With the current
Undertow
The more you say you love me
The more the current grip, grip, grips
The more you say you love me
The more the blood drip, drip, drips
Fills you up
Makes your tummy swell
Don’t ignore the pool at your feet
Seeping from your teeth
Because once you feel you’re full
You’ve already drowned.
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