Last Spring by Sheikha A.

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