Spotlight on Danielle Corrado, Winner of the 2012 Palm Beach Poetry Festival

Spotlight on Danielle Corrado, Winner of the 2012 Palm Beach Poetry Festival

Jackie Jerkins, Literary Editor

For those who have had the pleasure of reading or listening to the writing of Danielle Corrado, it provokes little surprise that the junior made off with first place at the 2012 Palm Beach Poetry Festival. Corrado, an esteemed member of the Literary Magazine, has time and again proved herself a maestro of language and perception, gifted with the rare ability to take thoughts that were once just electricity in the brain and pour them into words, like water into vial. Audiences at her feet are often left bewildered, mouths agape as she surrenders powerful phrases from her own brew, an art which reminds one of a skilled archer launching a force of arrows.

To be familiar with Corrado’s work is to be consecutively blown away with every new piece, to have eyes full of all the savvy, wry, and rattling words that hang in the air about her like stardust. For such a young individual to wield such a talent for firing poetry into the bones is virtually unheard of. One has to realize that somewhere between the words on the paper and the words welling in her throat arrives a sort of magic, that which few aspiring–and even long-established–poets have been able to summon.

Corrado’s connection to her writing is fragrant of the strongest bond there is: between the human and her being. Any Plain Jane can write what she feels, but it takes an artist to feel what she writes. Corrado belongs to this extraordinary class of poets, bearing a confident sign of greatness in her near future.

Featured in this spotlight are a selection of Corrado’s poems, including her winning poem, Love, Ana.

Love, Ana

She wakes up with an empty stomach,

Heart beating slow and steady beneath a fragile ribcage.

The early morning sun creeping through the blinds

Paints light across her bare chest and face.

She takes a deep breath,

inhaling as much cool air as her lungs can hold and releasing it.

Lying there for a moment, she traces her hipbones,

Climbing them like mountains with her index finger.

She rises out of bed and stumbles–lightheaded.

Steadying herself, she continues onward across the house.

Floorboards silent beneath her bare feet,

She enters the kitchen,

Opening the refrigerator and closing it

Without so much as a glance inside.

She makes her coffee–black–and sits at the table.

She stares down at her hands,

Slender fingers wrapped gently around a hot cup of coffee.

Sipping slowly, she notices

Veins like roads on a map, defined softly through translucent skin.

The coffee fills her with warmth.

She can feel it in the pit of her hollow stomach,

Providing her with all she will need to endure the long day ahead.

A rumbling emerges from her core–she ignores it.

She hardly even notices the hunger anymore.

Tiny waist,

Prominent bones,

Delicate features,

It’s all worth it.