Sonya S. Fehér

After Trakl

 

The graveyard is a red poppy

where long shadows call

autumn by name. Under

 

a dark tree, angels gather

a silver sonata. Sister's

forehead where hyacinth

 

decay, leafless death glances. Black stars

linger in a silent river while blood

falls over night. A shepherd gathers

 

stones, his purple eyelids

twilit hills resting in the silence.

The gold moon in mirrors recalls

 

blue springs of childhood, thirsty.

 

 

 

Homesick

 

Black widows shuttle across pillowcases

weave themselves into corners of the worn house.

 

The clay buries itself.

Summer's just wet creek bed.

 

She hopes, as she lies back on the deck,

for a snake's rattle.

 

Gardens of working women are like Greek ruins

decaying behind wild sunflowers.

 

 

 

Requiescat

            after T. Carmi

 

The mountain will not welcome me

if I lock the shutters,

The lilac bush will not bloom

with windows closed.

 

The lightning will bite like sharks

if I stand on deck.

In the grove, rain

will baptize what remains.

 

As I rest in packed ground,

spring's fingers scratching

my ashy lips, snowmelt

washes through me.