Radium Girls, 1924

artwork: ralph murre

Radium Girls, 1924

Radium Dial Plant, Ottawa, Illinois

by Peg Bresnahan

The tips of their tongues moistened

the brushes that daubed the dials

of clocks with a glow they thought

would last forever, but

it was the same as any comet’s

kiss, too close, too long. They painted

their nails and skin with its salts,

combed their hair, brushed their teeth

with it for that razz-ma-tazz look.

Young and ready to shine,

they sipped phosphorous cocktails,

danced the Charleston, the shimmy

in shadowed nightclubs until dawn.

Wrapped in pure energy they glowed,

most beautiful in the dark.

~ Previously published in the

   2013 Press 53 Open Awards Anthology

Living with Hephaestus

Living with Hephaestus

by Peg Bresnahan

Some say we attract

our nightmares,

like now, when I know

my husband is about to lift

part of a sculpture

weighing one hundred pounds.

Absurd to cheer him on

when I see what it takes

to create the shapes

blazing his mind.

Day after day, sparks

cascade around him

until the image behind his eyes

bends to a form I can touch.

I don’t know if it’s watching

the hoist lift and swing

great sheets of steel over his head,

or if it’s the fire I fear most. 

The time he walked through our door

face black, holes burned

through the three layers of clothing

his leather apron didn’t shield

when they caught the live end

of the welding torch.

He lowers his helmet

and strikes an arc.

Don’t look, he warns,

it can blind you.

A piece of sun tears loose

and the flame hisses

hunting for contact.

~ first published in Southern Poetry Review