after Janet Fish,
a painter, feminist, radicalist, realist, individualist, dreamer, lover, obsessive,
and ordinary woman filled with emotion, cravings, and ambition.
~~~
in the windowsill of my own hell. i stare out into the powdery blue of the night.
chewing at this gold band i bare across my finger. a constant burden. heavier than the one
chained to jesus's back. lined with thorns and sin. i am stuck in dullness. triggering immense outrage.
i committed the girlish crime and fell in love. in between the sun and the strawberry fields
a libidinous eclipse swallowed me whole. and threw me into a blindness made of bliss.
suffocated by kisses and touch so nauseating. this cannot be love.
not the one that was shared between mother and father. not the one i convinced myself i needed.
days slipped by the way morning does into afternoon. and i was stuck
painting fields and vases. hoping somewhere in between the trees and peonies,
my body would find life again. and i would be resurrected from my grave of misery.
from the hell of this man and his home which i convinced myself i desired.
but it's gone now. the boredom and the nausea. and so is he. i left him in the philadelphia sun.
pleading and crying: why can’t you love me! i am left to wonder: who am i to become now that i’m alone?
now that i’m alone. i find myself wandering manhattan’s lower west side.
with a soggy 20 dollar bill in the back pocket of my goodwill jeans.
shielding myself from the crying sky. with arms now stained with rain.
in the four o clock hour. i welcome the sunset and watch light alter itself. i grow envious
of the way she fractures and bends. penetrating every space she enters.
casting away darkness. and establishing herself as known. i’ve decided that i will
become her. even if it means I have to swallow a candle whole. i will glow from within.
to be alone is to swim in sheets. because a queen sized bed is nearly an ocean
without the occupancy of a man to fill it. without his breath. warm and controlling.
dripping down my neck. like honey off the backside of a silver spoon.
i have finally washed myself clean of the stickiness and restraints.
after many hours of scrubbing. i have found life again.
i have found life again. and from that enamor i've met obsession.
in the stillness of fruit. misshapen and grumpy honey crisp apples
the shade of petals and palms. pomegranates and bustful pears
sliced in half exposed to the sun and pollutants that dance in the air.
apples in cling film and fourth of july picnics. lovers hands knitted together.
blue irises, blue petals, blue waters. color bursting and singing in front of me.
stinging my irises with pleasure.
light and motion created with simplicity. everything beautiful and love tainted.
tender and intimate. forsaken and dismissed. vibrant and captivating.
i am lost in my mind. trapped in a world of color and light.
fixation becomes me as i sit beside this canvas. running my fingers up and down its spine.
i dream of bermuda. of the salty sea and tall trees that raised me. i think of the girl i was.
and i wonder if she’d be proud of the woman i am today. if she’d be just as obsessed.
i met a woman today. with green eyes, olive skin, and an auburn haired baby on her hip.
and now i’m here. in this empty studio. painting that same baby in tears.
with an empty womb and empty heart. for i have no person or feeling to fill either organs.
so they remain untouched and abandoned. like my societal womanhood.
i trade gentle touch and cooing. so peachy and soft.
life sheltered in the folds of my breast. a shared warmth.
an internal pink to an external white. fresh innocence.
for something textile and scratchy under my fingertips.
made to soak up these tears better than a handkerchief
passed down from my grandmother.
these paintings are all i have to call my own.
but i have accepted this failure and claimed it as destiny.
for maybe that manner of love was never meant to be mine.
love was never meant to be mine.
the roses and the smiles shared over covers
on a winter day. pulling each other in to exile the cold.
leaving the theatre with arms and pinkies linked.
bumping into one another. chipper and zinging
off of nerves. consuming your whole body. the way a winter shiver does.
fluttering and flying as if you're on the back of a hummingbird.
do i revert back to purity, if my skin is bereft of touch
and tongue? the mouth so gentle.
no kisses down my spin.
have i returned back to mary?
the cravings have subdued and i’ve welcomed acceptance
alongside isolation. and i have rejected the essence of love.
the essence of love is found in the days where it’s raining and the
streets are flooded and i’m cooped up in this apartment which creaks
at night and i’m this bed that seizes and groans under my weight and i’m
scribbling into my sketchbook dainty flowers i saw the day before in the
colors mauve and cherry and i've lit a candle and in the corner of my room
it’s flickering emitting the smell of sandal and sage and i’m peering into a
ceramic mug and all that’s starting back at me is black tea the color of milky
caramel due to the cream and sugar i added and i have no plans other than to
watch people pass by my fractured window panes and lose myself in pigment
and observation letting every image that’s wandered casually into my mind
dance and relish on the page meeting life and excitement then finding the
pillows after giving myself away for hours to the binder and solvent turning
my cheek to stare back at those same windows panes that separate me my
mind and body from the powdery blue of the night
Zion Davison Zion Lonette is an artist who enjoys expressing herself in many forms. Whether it’s cooking, dancing, taking photos, or writing. She’s originally from Seattle but moved to New Orleans in 2022. This move is often reflected in her work along with themes of love, past and present, the future, and her shifting identity. She spent the summer of 2025 at a writing intensive at Barnard College, where she studied screenwriting and wrote three short films in three weeks. In the future, she wants to study film, psychology, and gender studies. Either fulfilling her childhood dream of going to college in New York, or taking her interests abroad. She helps run UMBRA as a senior editor and works really hard on collaborations and performances for the Creative Writing department. She loves taking on new hobbies, meeting new people, and creating! She hopes to continue creating, being a leader, and finding love as she graduates this year and ventures into a new world.
