Joy Edwards

Joy Edwards is a senior double-majoring in Religion and Creative Writing (Poetry Capstone), with a minor in Publishing and Printing Arts. Joy is rather melancholy in nature, and may have been ironically named. 

Rust on the Key

My cursive has been described as elegant
although few readers are capable of deciphering it.
What I wanted was ugly. Ink bleeds.

Because a and o are nearly identical,
my high school diploma called me Jay instead of Joy.
For years my capital G looked more like D, so

Gay after day, I wrote without trying to read.
Now I have locked even myself out
from the privacy of my childhood.

In this half-secret script I laid to rest
prayers, which were confessions of doubt
and desires I dared not speak.

I have to laugh at the old notebook
I found today, and the line where
I should have written God but it looked like Dad.

Lying, Still

You are cleaning
me: a piece
of greenware you

expect to crack
in the kiln.
I am carved

by you: a
dull blade meant
to scrape black

earth out from
fingernails. No
matter if I

want to be
earthy. Keep scraping
smooth layer up

from layer and
I will lie
still saying you

will not breach
my thin brittle
rind.