This Time, It Would Be I Who Was Lost by Lana Bella

By landscape rife, I passed
through a map of a thousand
snowful pines, escaping into
glacial cuts, adenoidal, heavy
with extinct language of tree
bark and tethered scrawls on
thicket’s nailbeds. Slim and
fancy-looped, I bruised right
where my eyes got articulate,
half-hearted courting the feel
of something eglantine, more
than a failed organ that once
gave, now received. But the I
was an addled head, converged
eyes in the distance to twelve-
miles home, always wondered
if the air could mush my arms
into wings, travelling me to know
the why and need of lullaby soft,
of the dear seeming I once had
sought. And as there were tiny
words gravity laid in, I breeched
down to the sound of wood nigh
wood, wrenched simple-minded
by fair opus of chemical psalms—
a corpse in want of plaited leaves.

Lana Bella
A three-time Pushcart Prize & Bettering American Poetry nominee, Lana Bella is an author of three chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016), Adagio (Finishing Line Press, 2016), and Dear Suki: Letters (Platypus 2412 Mini Chapbook Series, 2016), has had poetry and fiction featured with over 380 journals, 2River, The Acentos Review, California Quarterly, Comstock Review, Expound, Grey Sparrow, Notre Dame Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, San Pedro River Review, The Ilanot Review, and Waccamaw, among others. She resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps.

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