Daughter of This Earth poem by Gabriela Marie Milton

inside the altars of the churches with blue cupolas
he recounts the spring cuckoo’s notes
his cries strip him of himself
modify his flesh until the days are born from the wounds of his feet
daughter of this earth
I can hear his bones cracking with love for you
his voice made from curses and myrrh
his body stretched between heaven and the bloom of the olive trees
his retina caught inside the limonite of the yellow marble
everything speaks of the impossibility of tomorrow
daughter of this earth
you
who travel in the lands of the snakes with no name
and shed your skin and your beauty in every sunset
you are the virginal sin in the nights of the hyacinths
show mercy
go back to him
the resurrection is near

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My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Andalusian Resurrection #poem #poetry

 

In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
Federico García Lorca

open your veins Andalusia
let him drink from your lynx blood
inject the rhythms of the flamenco
under the coldness of his eyes
tattoo his flesh with tiles of azurite
pour the sounds of castanets
into his arms
my fingers swirl
the flesh of ripened olives
covers the old shroud
the flow of blood from the white shirt
has stopped
I hear his voice
there is one cross
and you’re my only love
my body arches
oils flame in my hair
a Moorish verse falls from a wall
covering my cries

Andalusia
I kneel among your cacti fed by salt
your wounded lashes
resurrected him
for yet
another night

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

image: Fernando Cortes; Shutterstock; [link]