By Laura Eklund
so smooth, like a vapor
the water came and spooled around her feet
making her feel hollow.
Overcome by shadows and planes
blue pages tearing at his hips
his red caress stinging in gold.
Time is jugular but she cannot feel it
only his eyes, unhidden like claws
chafing like a mountain’s piano—
she did not know their inner creed.
The old Albany screeches like the blue bird
while the comico-tragical wind dies
tearing at her soot and drying up her hands
swallowing the mouth of emptiness
the water came and carried her away.
About the poet:
Laura Eklund is an artist and poet. She lives and works in Olive Hill, KY, with the poet George Eklund, and has four children with him, Waylon, Thomas, Fiona, and Marina. Laura also paints. Her favorite things to do include reading and writing poetry and spending time with my family.
Laura’s works have appeared in many journals including ABZ, Black Warrior Review, Southern Women’s Review, Pegasus, and Slipstream. And her poetry collection, Song of Lisbon, came out recently from Wind Publications. More can be found out about Laura at www.lauraeklund.org or she can be followed on Facebook at The Art of Laura Eklund.