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| Image Credit: Andrew Wyeth, Christina’s World |
بعض أيام العسل، وبعض البصل أيام (some days honey, some days onions)
by Rowan Tate
the birds sing into my mouth, there are
lilies drowning underwater that cannot
scream, the moon doesn’t know we are
looking at her and the sun doesn’t know
it is keeping us alive. i use my grandmother’s thread
to tuck time into the lines of things
the way she did by gaslamp before
the occupation. god isn’t here now,
we have to make our own clothes. some of us
never had a mother. we cup our hands
wanting something from the sky. the soil remembers
where you stepped on it. everything requires
faith we do not think we have.
Rowan Tate is a Romanian creative and curator of beauty. She reads nonfiction nature books, the backs of shampoo bottles, and sometimes minds.
