Two Poems
by Diana Arterian


My father and I stand
in front of his bathroom mirror

He is shaving with his antique kit
He stops, looks at me
in the mirror

His child

He says, If anyone
ever steals you away
poke out
the abductor’s eye

I can run, I say –

No – take your finger
and get it into his socket
behind the eye

then pull forward




There was an ivory head of Mary
mounted on my father’s wall

It looked as if she was emerging

She was almost as big as me

Each night I lay in bed
and imagined her floating through
the dark house

Eyeless spirit

a tail of white
trailing behind her



Diana Arterian was born and raised in Arizona. She currently resides in Los Angeles where she is pursuing her PhD in Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Southern California. She holds an MFA in poetry from CalArts, where she was a Beutner Fellow. Diana is the Managing Editor of Ricochet, a publisher of non-tradition poetry and prose chapbooks. Her own chapbook Death Centos was published by Ugly Duckling Presse, and her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming in H_NGM_N, trnsfr, and The Volta, among others.