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Gather – by Lisha Garcia

Posted on Jul 2, 2017 by in July 2017 | 1 comment

Gather my hands now that they are spotted,
move slowly over the knots growing on the knuckles.
Grasp my fingers together as if they were scented tulips
emerging red from winter’s hibernation.

Give me a shrine to record the stories
of a small boy abandoned to my care at birth,
today a grown man.

Remember my fingers bent in a loose curve
stroking your forehead to sleep,
or to close the eyes of your beloved grandmother
from this world to spirit.

Take my hands to the bark of a birch
to hear once again the lullaby of ants
and green wood bending to a gust.
Give me a virgin page and a purple pen
so that I may rediscover the white ledge of possibility.

Hold my scars so you don’t repeat them.
Gather apple blossoms and place them
on my chest, beneath prayerful hands.
I won’t forget, but one day,
you might long for their weight.

1 Comment

  1. Poetry Bio:

    Lisha Adela García is a poet who has México, the United States and the land in between in her work. She has an MFA from Vermont College in Writing and currently resides in Texas with her beloved four legged children.

    Lisha has a chapbook entitled, This Stone Will Speak, from Pudding House Press. Her book, Blood Rivers, from Blue Light Press of San Francisco was a finalist for the Andrés Montoya Prize at the University of Notre Dame.

    Lisha recently placed nationally in the Bodine-Brodinsky Prize from the Connecticut Poetry Society for her poem, A Woman’s Hands in a Time of War.

    She is widely published in various journals including: Boston Review, Crab Orchard Review, Border Senses and Mom Egg Review.

    She also has a Masters in International Business from Thunderbird for the left side of her brain.

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