this face was different. Green fire
in corals’ arms. No amount of golden
drinks grew red blossoms on my cheeks.
And as if in fate’s cue, I dreamt a garment
slit to the neck of a shell-white dress –
exposed meadows. It is hard to interpret
reality in the absence of sleep. I have been
counting blooms in the tone of summer’s:
taut taunt turn of the tongue, precise
and error free my declamations. Last
spring you arrived hefting trees
on your shoulders. You declared they
needed to be cut. I built a ring of fire
from their barks, and made the season
change to a guiltless summer.
Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her work appears in over 100 literary venues, both print and online, including several anthologies by different presses. More about her can be found on sheikha82.wordpress.com