Wednesday, May 10, 2023



The Present Speaks of Past Pain

It's that hour of dusk

when the sky is awash

in waning light, when, if we might

forgive each other, this would be

the hour for it.

I lay down beneath a yellow tree.

I understand I could hold on to the past

or be happy.

Then, nothing. You did not appear to me.

The sky filled with stars

that had been there already.


Maya C. Popa

Wound Is the Origin of Wonder

Norton, 2023