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Three Poems by Lana Bella

Anemochory

In front of me is a frozen scene of
an accident; the sentient rot
being pumped out so spreading I
think it might be a red sea. In
the pale tips of my shoes, dermis
moves through slick rawhide
and skin, uncaring to the gradual
weight still sutures with noon’s
jaws rust shut. Perhaps this calls
into fear where lush of mortal and
bewildered laughs into billfolds,
cinches yet my damp curls so cold
that I can almost hear the tonal
attributes of sod that churns liquid
cement. Who among us does not
transpose from impression to refuse,
spilling of roses down the under-
belly of things, each keening distant
point seeds like empties the farther
back they go, when all that remains
are easing light contrasting the black.


Not What Is No Longer Here

How you mimed through what
rhapsodized in the raw bent
of empties, dialing into havoc
as if every ohm was a dust
flying through the ether. It has
long been time you ached in
the body swung on slim bones,
eyes looked out the back of your
head, conceits felt phantom like
monarchs over flames. Where
the light was low, how its halos
of manic bromide grated orange
in refraction as soft myriads of
instances ritualized, before you
aged tenderness on each pasture
of mind, recouped memory at
the glass edge to the flesh held
tight unmasking weathered years.


Pomegranate

You saw red in the autumn foliage,
fraught with seeds of spilling
pomegranate, dark for a thousand
years. Palms upturned, stilled in
the light spilled back, motley blots
on skin being snowplowed, clutched
you to the dry heave of seasons
drenched in nervous sweat. Wished
away the jolts with sleep inside,
your shadow took left where arms
and ribs crooked over a shift of wind,
in which red quartz poured from
slack-jawed birds, courted idylls for
you through their swoops and dives.
You were ten, and the world was
larger, willing to brave by what you
summoned, heathering languor in
such plenitudes that skies and earth
always close at hand, uneffaced by
your evidences of scattering touches.


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, forthcoming), and Dear Suki: Letters (Platypus 2412 Mini Chapbook Series, 2016) has had poetry and fiction featured with over 380 journals, including 2River, Acentos Review, Comstock Review, Expound, Grey Sparrow Journal, Ilanot Review, Notre Dame Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, San Pedro River Review, Waccamaw, and Word/For Word, among others.

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