May 2023 – When the Cold Stopped Being Cold
About the Writer: Emily Laubham is a writer from Pittsburgh, PA. At any given moment, she’s dealing with wanderlust, homesickness, or some combination of the two. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s exploring the woods with her German shepherd, Liesl, or laying on the couch with her cat, Tish. The first short story she ever wrote was suspiciously similar to C.S. Lewis’ “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,” specifically the part where Eustace transforms into a dragon, with a touch of Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland” (i.e., eating transformative substances). Since then, she’s learned the subtle yet important difference between inspiration and stealing. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in publications including Contrary Magazine, Flash: The International Short Story Magazine, Ping-Pong Literary Journal, Anti-heroin Chic, Menacing Hedge, and Rough Diamond Poetry.
About the poem: Initially, this poem emerged out of reflections on what it meant to be “saved,” especially in the context of religion. My thoughts on religion have evolved over the years, but I’m still drawn to and influenced by the magical thinking of it all. In many ways, my Self (the self beneath the self?) has become my truest version of a higher power/savior. My faith has just been a powerful, beautiful uncertainty.
After a few iterations, When the Cold Stopped Being Cold narrowed into an exploration of the way girls and women are conditioned to pour themselves out, often for the benefit of men. This is a small example, but I can’t tell you how many times my knee-jerk response to a sexist joke from an older man has been laughter. Because I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable? Speaking of which, I really need a new dentist.
While I still find myself hyper-focused on making others comfortable (hence, “When that day comes…”), I’m working towards a time and place where instead of being agreeable, pleasant, and endlessly patient (“The One Who Puts Up With”), I am disruptive, kind vs. nice, questioning, and a bit of a menace (“The Most Pretentious, Righteous Bitch”).
When the Cold Stopped Being Cold Many men have called me Saint. Blessed in their legends as The One Who Puts Up With. Well-versed in giving freely from my veins, being patient as they drink from the Fountain of Me. Salvation, I thought, was got by giving. But I was alone when the cold stopped being so cold. Baptized in rain, I realized: Redemption, in the end, will be a grace I grant to me. When that day comes, call me anything but Saint. Call me archfiend, call me wizard. Call me jezebel in jeans. Bless me in your legends: The Most Pretentious, Righteous Bitch who bit her lip and drank the blood while men went hungry in the streets.
Previous Poets of the Quarter:
Carrie Penrod – I Wish My Name Was Clementine (July 2022)
Michelle Davey – Murdering Turtles at the Foodbank (November 2021)
Rough Diamond Poetry 