I am happy to announce that I have a new poem live on Rose Quartz Magazine. Click here to read it!
It’s here! My second poetry chapbook, entitled The Salt and the Song, is now available through Headmistress Press. It includes a 2019 Pushcart Prize nominated poem.
“There is no better witness to the divine than a woman. Virginia Petrucci is a collector of beautiful objects, a medium for the unknown & the known. The form delivers a captivating dismemberment of self, makes itself precious in chaos like a piece of polished sea glass–it is poetry that revels in burning at both ends.”
Click here to purchase directly through Headmistress Press (recommended!)
Click here to purchase through Amazon.
I’m thrilled to announce that I’ve been included as a semi-finalist in the 2018 Charlotte Mew Chapbook competition and that my poetry chapbook, The Salt and the Song, will be published through Headmistress Press! I’m honored to be included alongside so many outstanding women writers.
At seven o’clock we tempted our fatigue and drove some more after a day in both cars. The drive was short and awed very little but definitely calmed and probably inspired at least one of us. “Us” is in this case a both, a daisy chain with one proud link. Dark and the sweet smell of oranges and dust. We arrived at the wrong gate.
A heat wave in Ojai is a depression of hope that one has found paradise. The town’s beauty is ground into the soil so that it is breathed in rather than noticed. Attending to one’s guilt in this air heals one’s past and erases the oppression of the future so there is only now and this.
Some lessons are scattered in the gait of a tortoise roaming around the grounds. Some promises are stuffed against the face of Topa Topa. A numb spark that one judges to be real rather than believes to be true; I’m an unlikely recipient of natural grace.
I am pleased to announce that I have a new flash fiction piece published online in Flash Fiction Magazine. You can have a read here, and don’t forget to let me know what you think!
The night begged its own seat in the calendar of seasons. A warmth but a triumph over fire and a confusion over coast.
A frenzy, like lightning it was, like an invitational mystery with a jocular humor. For girls, such skies. Much like the girls I used to be.
The scenes I used to take to and the love drug storms I used to make fall short of this graceful math. This lightning with no wind, this rain with no reason. I am not for such delights. I am not for seeing what is already there.
He times a surprise and I shorten a tantrum. Evolve, is it? And without revolt?
A handicapped breath gives way to a kidnapped cloud; we are not alone, one hopes. I am ever alone, I spoke. My eyes only for ghosts.
Another poem of mine, “What The Bees Know”, is featured in issue 3 of The Ginger Collect. Have a read, along with other wonderful stories and poems!