Sunday, June 15, 2014

Two poems by Eva Skrande

Beloved, your spine
is the piano
I want to play
somewhere sacred
as in a church
filled with kingdoms
of moons
where drunk trees
come lonely
and leave betrothed
to heartbeats,
where beggars
let go of the anchors
of life
and their hands
fill with fruit
and they dance
to the music
from your bones.

I was once the instrument of God’s mercy.
I fed the hungry dogs
and carried the ones that had starved
from this world to the next.
I entertained the roses at funerals.
I told them life was good
and not to be feared.
I became water to garner their faith.
I bought hats for the poor
to wear at the weddings of orphans.
I loaned my hands to the mountains,
and instructed the cold
to stray far from the pigeons.
I comforted the trees with sick wives.
I praised the elderly from the balcony
of their memories.
I taught the boats east from west
so they could turn toward Jerusalem.
I did this because God is merciful,
because the river and the drowned
are husband and wife.

Author bio: 

Eva Skrande was born in Havana, Cuba and grew up in Miami. She earned a B.A. from Sarah Lawrence College, an M.F.A. from Iowa, and a Ph.D. in Creative Writing from the University of Houston. Her poems have appeared in  the American Poetry Review, American Voice, Iowa Review, Ploughshares, and the Alaska Quarterly, among others. Her first book, My Mother's Cuba, was selected by Andrew Hudgins for the River City Poetry Series. Her chapbook, the Gates of the Somnambulist was published by Jeanne Duval Editions. She lives in Houston, Texas. 

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