Daphne in Mourning
Palm fronds have woven out the sky.
Fog has infiltrated every vein.
My hair has interlaced with vines.
Cobwebs lash their gauze across my eyes.
I’ve stood so since the world began,
and turned almost to stone some years ago.
Who passes by perceives a lichened post,
my girlish features, ghostly, nearly gone.
My bark is warmer than the dead’s.
Human blood still lulls the underside of leaves.
My fingers hold the very dress I loved
to dance in, when dancing mattered—and it did.
And now, the unveiling of Rosa Mira's and Melissa's collaboration. A gift for us all. Hooray to everyone concerned.
Rosa Mira Books: Melissa Green, poet extraordinaire, writes memoir