Sarah Awad    © 2016 All Rights Reserved

Transatlantic Texts


Tourists hog the bandwidth,
greedy to upload grey photos
of green countryside, filtered cliffs and fiddles.

Our chatís scattered by thinned-out internet.
I write about dragonflies, how theyíre born
in water, can fly across oceans.

I send a picture of the moon, hanged high,
dumb and minted as a nickel, think
of your hair, patient in the shower drain.

When do souvenirs become
symptoms? A sidewalk fire
flies its flames toward my window,

bags of trash lit up and licking the tree,
its branches I can almost reach.
Youíre asleep, or somewhere,

as I punch in helpís number, watch
helmeted men douse it out, the smoke
subside. My bed is a heap of burning leaves.

My shadow flies up to street-lit ceiling,
a celestial flicker, mindless as the sky.
Youíll read this when Iím sleeping.
 

 

Micaela Bombard
Copyright © 2016  

Micaela Bombard holds an MFA in poetry from Sarah Lawrence College and an MS in Narrative Medicine from Columbia University. Her publications include Four Way Review, The Anthology of New England Writers, The Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, Barbaric Yawp, Fjords Review, Health Affairs, Evening Paper, and decomP magazinE.


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