Poems & Essays

16 Oct

My Rosalinde Sky

General/Column No Response

Up to now,
my daughter has had her childhood made
between the dueling clock,
and my motherly arms–

I can still see the tiny, bent form in bed at dawn,
dark hair feathered all around on the pillow
traces of night seeped out from coiled fingertips,
behind the windowpane,
sunrise marked the sky overhead
a shade of peach orange–

soft as silk,
the morning air wormed
into the rise and fall of her chest,
those sweet chocolate eyes blinked away sleep,
and in the corner,
the clock chimed its early hour–

there were those narrow seconds before
the universe spun into wake,
before it split open the comforting veil of illusion
as the burdens of day captured my whole
and I,
became just another ghost slaving away on earth–

I shrunk down beside her,
tucked my daughter’s body into the pleats of an embrace,
and for that small primrose instant,
I was eased from the living and its chaos,
to simply be.

Listen to the poet read her poem here:




Lana Bella has published work with over one hundred journals, including a chapbook with Crisis Chronicles Press (Spring 2016), Ann Arbor Review, Chiron Review, Literary Orphans, Poetry Salzburg Review, elsewhere, among others. She divides her time between the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a wife of a talking-wonder novelist, and a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps.

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