I plucked a sage-colored
pod from a bush
and fingered it like a talisman
on my way up the steep hill.
I thought of your small body
languid across my ribs,
head like a perfumed limpet.
Between patches of shade
my legs felt heavy with a phantom
weight out of sync
on this light-filled island.
Better I should keep pace
with the steady rhythm
of the cicadas, tymbals
springing and clicking, the chorus
moving the pockets of air.
Even the clothespins on the line
skip in the wind like plastic popsicles
electric orange and green.
The towels dance defiantly toward the sea
despite their clipped sails.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 3.
Linda Laino is a visual artist and writer who has been making art in one form or another for over 45 years. With an MFA from Virginia Commonwealth University, Laino was influenced by language from a young age, and moves between painting and writing in search of the connections and the crossover. The last few years have found her making art at residencies around the world in Virginia, Maine, France, Spain, and Greece. Her poems and prose have been published with distinction in many small presses and anthologies. Her poem, “Poem at Sixty,” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2019, and her poem, “I Clean Up,” is nominated for a 2026 UK Forward Poetry Prize. Originally from Philadelphia and Richmond, Virginia, she has lived and worked in Mexico since 2012.
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