Blue shadows descend
onto the cranberry-kissed fire of twilight
that wraps its arms around me like a cool breeze
teasing beads of perspiration. The smell of rain
lingers, drops still heavy on emerald palm
fronds like the songs in my mind
that just don’t stop singing to me,
bringing me music through the thoughts
that seduce my pen. I inhale the moist Miami air,
grateful for this beauty, this silence
that doesn’t come around
like it used to. Bruised on the inside,
my wounds begin to work their way out,
moving like passion fruit flowers
blooming slowly from behind the sun,
reaching like two parts of a severed heart
struggling to become one again.
One arm closer to peace, I breathe
in the pink tranquility of summer’s tropical air,
picturing plastic flamingoes perched
one-legged on fertilized lawns,
black eyes blind to this sight.

06/22/2005

Posted on 06/23/2005
Copyright © 2025 Malika Bierstein