by Lana Bella
Somewhere beyond the ice,
I see a shadow casts a line
with a flick of its wrist by
sending the veins back,
smearing of light breathes
into sea. And somewhere
in there, I am stunned
of ghosts and negatives,
holding tendrils pressed to
cold, fingers go heavy
like braided wheat twirling
the water birds. There, I
become a woman waiting
on the shore, emptying
all the ways that are kind
and absent, backing away
from sea anklebone slow.
The wheeze of living near
enough to air to let nothing
through, each breath burs
in the hollow of my chest,
and this is how I know I had
already died at least twice.
A four-time Pushcart Prize, five-time Best of the Net & Bettering American Poetry nominee, Lana Bella is an author of three chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016), Adagio (Finishing Line Press, 2016), and Dear Suki: Letters (Platypus 2412 Mini Chapbook Series, 2016), has had poetry and fiction featured with over 450 journals, Acentos Review, Comstock Review, EVENT, Ilanot Review, Notre Dame Review, Rock and Sling, & Lampeter Review, among others, and work appeared in Aeolian Harp Anthology, Volume 3. Lana resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps.