Dear Suki: Culver City, June 17th,
your shoes are large and I put them
on, trying to ache through the miles
you had walked from this wild grass
I no longer mow. Pronged fibers curl
above my steps, gathering the way
smoke shoulders its particles up the
exhaust hood. But idle feet can’t tar
your shoes are large and I put them
on, trying to ache through the miles
you had walked from this wild grass
I no longer mow. Pronged fibers curl
above my steps, gathering the way
smoke shoulders its particles up the
exhaust hood. But idle feet can’t tar
the stride of summer, needing to lead
my body to a half-winter wet and wild.
I dart my gaze without caution across
the yard, leveling the landscape raw,
scouring the oatmeal sky in weariness.
Moving like the moods of a house with
its doors unlatched, I bring fingers to
eyes and touch liquid memory in salt.
my body to a half-winter wet and wild.
I dart my gaze without caution across
the yard, leveling the landscape raw,
scouring the oatmeal sky in weariness.
Moving like the moods of a house with
its doors unlatched, I bring fingers to
eyes and touch liquid memory in salt.
(c) Copyright 2016 Lana Bella
A Pushcart nominee, Lana Bella is an author of two chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016) and Adagio (Finishing Line Press, forthcoming).
Lana has had poetry and fiction featured with over 250 journals including the California Quarterly, Chiron Review, Columbia Journal, Poetry Salzburg Review, Plainsongs, San Pedro River Review, The Writing Disorder, Third Wednesday, among others.
She resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps.
You can visit Lana at: https://www.facebook.com/Lana-Bella-789916711141831/
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