Reflections on a Balcony
If anyone asked me what my favorite souvenir
was, I would point to the plum-shaped bruise
on my right calf. There, the wind landlocked
its blade, waking my flesh like footsteps on
crisp rose petals. I lived in Romania then, in
an apartment with a balcony that balanced
loneliness the size of icebergs, on its tin shoulders.
Its madrigals branched their way through
keyholes and punctured owls in my eyes; trapping
them blue and shivering, the way last kisses
linger, long after pictures have faded. Barefoot
on concrete, I was night dust, contracting
around veined branches. Inside purring neon
lights, we condemned the scumbag wings
of time, my balcony and I. Little silver pills,
intersecting the sky-knit meadow, were our only
allies against the swollen winter horizon.
My favorite souvenir is a traditional Japanese wishing figure called Daruma. Perched on my desk, it emanates calmness during my hectic work schedule.
A translator by profession and artist at heart, Ana has contributed works to various publications, including Rio Grande Review, Cactus Heart Journal and A-Minor Magazine.