Friday, October 26, 2012

Perhaps Redemption


The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton




Beneath the angry breath of a convicted moon,
hung with condescension, I lay sentenced, 
growing in the dim light of your arms.

There is nothing to keep us here
but each other's swollen, red-rimmed eyes - 
nothing to teach us
but silence.

We are far beyond the cradle now, 
waiting for the mourning to commence, 
yet, we reject its sardonic pith -

we choose, instead, 
to burrow into the sweet soil
of a well-nurtured orchard, 
bearing the fruit of our loveliness,
unforgotten and consumed.