A full moon about the size of
my palm so bright
I put it in the linen closet
and for three days
a month the doors turn
translucent I can’t sleep

A prancing painted horse with
a lame leg I wind it up
and watch it crash in circles

A curved dagger with sticky tree
resin where the handle should be gilded
I unsheathe it bladeless

One August night I wake up
to a lit candle finally in bloom
flame too close to the garden

A morning of utter silence
not even the thrushes
speak today I harvest
the silence like truffles on muddied
knees beneath the apricot

Aiya Sakr is a Palestinian-American. She is the author of Her Bones Catch the Sun (The Poet’s Haven, 2018). A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared in Mizna, Nimrod, BAHR, and elsewhere. She has a master’s degree in literature and writing from Utah State University. Currently, she’s completing an MFA in poetry at Purdue University, where she serves as Poetry Editor for Sycamore Review.

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