I.
fucking in the rose garden
a woman pregnant with another man’s child
he takes her from behind
the scent of pink tea roses
bees and thorns
twilight to evening petals fall to ground
the crush of gravel on the path under her sandals
as they rock together one last time
and climax
his feet bare
II.
can’t breathe
can’t open my eyes
want to fly
two steps to the counter
no space no time
body creaks and cracks
dog keeps barking
earthbound
mud stone
a fine fat dog unafraid
she dreams of other fine fat dogs
also unafraid
one day dogs will rule the world while I
whine and whinny and cry
pawing ground
III.
pooled flowers
figure-eight of the mulberry tree
women’s dark hands clutch brightly colored shawls
orange road
blue river winding into forest
dashed onto canvas
trees that wave like hair
the river wends its way down the riverbed through autumn fields
stopping only to caress its bends and curves
the women mourn with yellow chrysanthemums and ghost white roses
tilling the garden Elizabeth strips out weeds with claps of her reddening hands while
the intendeds are on a boat on the sea or they are not
they are the sea
she is a sailor
she is the sail stretching taut in the aging sunlight
a frozen cap of a wave that cannot break
water percolating under ice
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 1.
Paula Brancato is a NY-based writer, poet, filmmaker and Harvard MBA, giving her work a unique, creative voice. Her literary awards include The Booth Poetry Prize, Danahy Fiction Prize and Brushfire Poet Award. Her work has appeared in Kenyon Review, Mudfish, Bomb Magazine, The Virginia Quarterly, Ambit Magazine, Georgetown Review, Litchfield Review and Southern California Anthology. Paula taught poetry and screenwriting at USC and Stony Brook Southampton and is a graduate of Hunter College and LA Film School.
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