A Little Dusk Dementia
I rescued the Plath’s
hardcover from the tentacles
of your dementia,
where spittle has congealed into
the small cracks of its leather bound.
With an abundance of new
questions that remained blissfully
ignorant to the simple act of
you folding your hand in mine,
I felt the tenuous stitching
along the toothed dunes beneath
your fingers, as if against my touch,
yours was an ireful heaving
across the gentle moras
of ambient spa water.
Besides you, time hauled long and taut
with me tracing eyes of
the half-world of your winter:
my halting calm amidst
the deterioration of your sensory.
On days like this when December cold
left claws on the pale downpour
engulfing all our hopes and promises,
like a golden naiad felled
from an early kingdom,
you raised your arms skyward,
mouth gushed words toward some
lucent celestial beings
only they alone could pick through.
While I, wrapped myself around
you, a stranger, made home about
your unknowing arms.
- Lana Bella
A Pushcart nominee, Lana Bella is an author of two chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016) and Adagio (forthcoming from Finishing Line Press), has had her poetry and fiction featured with over 200 journals. See more of Lana’s work here.