Silvia Curbelo    Tampa        (Lola Haskins)
Read This

In the place where sad 
is a verb she holds 
the window open
as if light were a book
she could live in.
Over and over
her small hands
the fragile, brimming
cup, the bluest 
page. Love’s tender
necessary grammar. 
A flower pressed into the flesh
of a reminder. Words 
twisted into feathers. 
Tiny arrows. Her broken 
origami bird. 

This poem first appeared in SWWIM Every Day.