by Eva Skrande
Night awakens in your lily filled hair.
My fingers give life to kind finches
on your forehead. Tonight,
old disputes fall from the book of life.
Neighbor gives bread to neighbor
while snowflakes land on the earth’s eyelashes.
You are like that earth,
full of tender rivers and oceans
for lost angels. With each breath you exhale
a child stops suffering. There are good mothers
and fathers for each of them
Next to you, I can pretend it’s summer,
and no one will cry on this quivering night,
the mustache of sadness gone
from the face of the earth. If only
all refugees could find a home on this gentle night
If only everyone was willing to dance
despite heavy shoes.
Because, tonight, no one dies in this world,
no one suffers.
The snow’s fingers are closing the eyes of the despots,
and not one lie will be told
this entire night, not one.
© Eva Skrande
Currently, Eva Skrande is looking forward to the publication of her third book, The Boat that Brought Sadness into the World, next June by Finishing Line Press. Her publications also include My Mother’s Cuba (River City Publishing Poetry Series 2010) and Bone Argot (Spuyten Duyvil 2019). Most recently her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Collidescope, SuperPresent, SurVision, Another Chicago Magazine, i-70 Review, Plant Quarterly and elsewhere. She lives in Houston where she tutors for Houston Community College and continues to occasionally teach for Writer’s in the Schools.
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