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
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.