Poem of the Month

By Oana Avasilichioaei

Published on August 4, 2015

Tonight it will rain on the green dunes of limestone.
Wine preserved until now in a dead man’s mouth
will awaken the realm of footbridges, displaced in a bell.
A human tongue will clang courage inside a helmet.

And so trees will come at a quickened pace,
to wait for a voiced leaf, brought in an urn,
herald of sleep’s coast sent off to a tide of flags.
Let it soak in your eyes, so I think we’re dying together.

Your hair streaming from mirrors will blanket the sky
in which, with a frigid hand, I’ll flame an autumn.
From waters drunk by the blind, my stunted laurel
will climb a belated ladder to bite from your brow.

More Poetry

Waking at 4 a.m.

There in the darkness silence dwells, and the long wait for morning, daylight around the window shade in what’s left of night;

Oshawa Shopping Centre

I like it when we shop together. All of us
at the heart of a snakeskin wallet.                   Grocery-bag ghosts
graze on footfalls. A wallet where we’re          kept
like photobooth shots. There was a man


              So it’s a dreary December, the sun a low ember behind ashen snowfall, when you see him bicycle by.               You know this guy! His paintbrush, you’ve seen it fly as watery blues and greys create a feisty pigeon perched atop a tarnished angel’s head.