Falter by Samantha Malay
wake from summer’s sleep / to rosehip frost and cold blue skies
Recently Published
I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
wake from summer’s sleep / to rosehip frost and cold blue skies
"The lemon is ripe, perfumed / skin holding golden juice, and / would have stayed where it had grown."
The fear I feel/I have I can't translate: / the way my veins have emptied, the way / my hands have hollowed.
You hold / my waist and dropped petals return to lilies.
but tiles are boundaries / and some lines are not to be crossed / except maybe in prayer.