My eyes glistened with frozen
crystals as the river froze
over for winter. A mirror,
the way the broken ice reflected
the sky. A layer of skin, the way the sun echoed
on the river-glass in the figure of a woman.
The breeze pushed the pieces together,
knocked each other like wind chimes
for the ducks who walked on ice,
elegant as ice skaters sketch circles.
Icicles of winter’s teeth hung low,
clung to the brush like fine dust
in a windpipe, set to bite down,
peel skin. If this surrounding city
disappeared,
had never been built,
the blue mountains beyond
would stand—their majesty
unquestioned
uninterrupted
by man-made weeds.
The river would flow
with no bridge to cross,
like a dream with no mind
to show when two black jaguars
leapt through my open
window while I slept.
When I heard a bird take his final breath
as the river cat slunk away
with wings between his teeth,
when my hair set on fire
twice from candlelight—
the first when my back turned
on a bar’s patio, the second
20 minutes after telling the story
of the candle on the patio—
I don’t want to believe in
coincidence anymore so please,
if you’re out there and you’re listening,
send a red flower,
while I’m no more than the magpie
passing by, or the water slides
down the tiles that hold up my mind.
Send a red flower to the depths
of the dirt where I muster
the courage to know my worth.
Send a red flower to the forest
of trees, beneath chandeliers
of branches that move apart
then together like lips that speak. Please,
if you’re out there and you’re listening,
send me a red flower in the cold
of this winter while dried-up leaves,
these crumpled crescent moons,
carry me all the way to June.
About the author:
Katie Moino received her Bachelor’s in English with a Creative Writing concentration at the University of Vermont. Moino’s poems have appeared in Humana Obscura, Vagabond City Lit, Book of Matches, and elsewhere. She serves as a poetry reader for Atticus Review. You can connect with her on Instagram @katiemoino.
Feature image by Conny Schneider on Unsplash
Isele Magazine 