Door of Air: Poems by Morgan Yasbincek

By | 1 February 2022


hot-bread sky spread with jacaranda silk
petals hang in bunches, cool tender flutes
two weeks ago these trees were struggling to flower, wettest
November on record, two weeks since the world fell into
water, cold came forward, a season missed its cue

maybe if we get down on hands and knees, crawl
from room to room, carry things in our mouths, on
our backs, we’ll be able to connect with how it was
one dropping tears onto tiles while vacuuming, dreams
stretch holes between the living and the dead, one
launders the issues of the other in purple and fawn

you become an ice king, melting inside, weeping
eyes pale as a sky empty of rain, hair turned angelic
silver, you write a letter to your daughter, bronze-wing
snaps its way across the front of the house, camps in
a tree outside the window, hoots its owl moan from
dark to light and back again

we’re awash in the bardo, the forty nine days
prayers, relighting the candle, its mango scent
a kind of shadow

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