Poetry – Spring 2019
A marigold rolls
like a hundred girls crossing their arms
over the closing eye of the sun.
The sea cuts its mouth open
and gurgles a lullaby for the
sleepless. The cities we love
grow in different dialects and
forget old dreams.
When the crumbling reaches your face,
you’ll have to keep calm,
because even your tongue
will fracture into fault lines.
i keep my hand pressed against foiled lace so not
to wrinkle a design so not to ball up in remission
at my mother’s feet with nothing but a child’s
dream in hand what if i wasn’t an only daughter