Poems by Sairica Rose
Your winter of words will not settle here
not even on the highest branches of my longing.
The tunnels of the evening are slowly losing light
tonight your face is made of a thousand white candles.
Our name is melting down to nothing on my tongue
with all of your wafers and all your holy songs.
The birds are finding land in the tide of our ovation…
a nation breaking free from the continent of memory.
Beneath the petals of your anger,
I see you wet and small and perfect
Threatened by the insects and the walls of all those fingers
and never will these falling feathers ever fly again
but still they bring your thoughts to me
when black cars leave without you.
Years... and all their flowers since our silence lost its voice.