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Anna Milon Poem
Look at this poppy-seed bread:
Black stars in a white sky,
Outside, an aloe plant rustles in the wind,
As out of place as dead people whispering.
I am not planning to die, however
Will they write my autobiography,
Listening to Fall Out Boy's 'Centuries'
Remember me...
For small recollections
Of a day-time moon,
This hot-cross bun blazoned across a handful
Of wayward seasons.
And I am not making any promises,
But this side of having a cold, far out stars
Are inextinguishable.
Copyright © Anna Milon | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Anna Milon Poem
Remember how he came and how he went,
Born far away the flakes of your soft bark,
A quartered apple in the muse’s hand,
The evergreen fond memory, our spark.
Up, up, up
Into the errant autumn winds.
Leaves stutter in the gust – a maudlin dance,
The whisper of time’s awl.
Up, up
Rend your unsightly pining skin,
Become a lute, a cup, a battle lance.
There is no infamy in such a fall.
Up
The wheel has turned where grief and branches lay.
Remember how he passed and how he stayed -
Small things through which the darkness’s kept at bay.
Copyright © Anna Milon | Year Posted 2015
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