The Medallion, Found Wednesday on Wilson Boulevard | Diana Smith Bolton

In a glinting sidewalk glance, I spy

the dime-size medal

of Mary on the pavement, flicking


splinters of light

behind my eyeballs, a lighthouse beam

twisting into my pupils,


and then I’m bent, lifting it in one cupped palm,

wondering, Do you girls

still pin these to your panties, a muffled chime


against the boys’

wayward hands? I can still taste my own medal,

unpinned for showering,


balanced on my tongue, as though through Mary

and metal, I would never

hunger again. But then it slid out, hot and wet,


and slipped onto

my safety pin, and pinned back onto my panties,

and clinked against


my warm skin. Do you girls still do that?

The metal tangs my tongue

even still.

Diana Smith Bolton is the founding editor of District Lit. In 2015, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Cactus Heart, Cider Press Review, Coldnoon, The Gambler, Gargoyle, If and Only If, The Pedestal, The Pinch, Shot Glass Journal, and elsewhere. She lives in northern Virginia.


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