March in Three Parts / Claire August



with winter came muted dreams

of things silently dripping

down the walls


still, I awake to the light of morning falling

upon the leaves of windowsill plants

like the outlines of small and careful neck bones


how unfortunate, that I am weighing the air

in both hands

and that I cannot remember the taste of milk

without the bitter notes of black tea leaves


meanwhile, my mother tells me of Greece

and how she had never seen people more beautiful nor

water more blue.


these seagulls must be lost

we are so far from sea.



meanwhile, snow gathers outside the stained glass windows

of a cathedral blackened by night

into the color of berries

while the two young violin players pull from four strings

sweet sad songs


by Claire August


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