Ana P

Ana P



this week it rained
we remember stretching our arms out the window
adrift on past waves
how we flirted with a reservoir of softly settling wings
they flew us anywhere we liked 

this week we emptied our lungs
in the relics of the attic
we floated on our ribs
all born under the wrong sun 

the count of our good veins by the kitchen window
the wait for more rain to cup into our war pits
lifetimes of unlearning night birds’ songs 

this week we knelt over the wet ground
carried dead plumerias
out to the crumbling fountain 

phantom blue space gasping to understand
the new language it is rained on
we never had a chance

Ana P is the author of Anima (dancing girl press, 2018). She has contributed creative work to DIAGRAM, New England Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, among others. Born in Bucharest, she currently lives in Zurich.