• Migration

    Austen Leah Rose

    Spring 2020

                                                                            Feasting on carrot leaves and honeysuckle,
    on hollyhock and cabbage,
                                                                darting between tangles of telephone wire,
    the color of fire seen through the stained-glass window
    of a cathedral,
    mythic-green, paradox-blue, some with seven orange spots,
                                                                            like pages ripped from the memoir of a rainbow,
    classified by size or sex, born in late September, early June,
                                                                                                    butterflies, billions,
    in parking lots where mothers pick up their children,
                                                                            in markets where vendors sell cherries,
    tumbling, catapulting,
                                        like lilacs blooming without water, like life
    without the possibility of life. They remind me
                                                                            of the red dust which settles
    on the porches and plazas
                                                    of Seville, or the blue

    Austen Leah Rose is a PhD student at the University of Southern California. Her poems have appeared in Salmagundi, Zyzzyva, the Southern Review, AGNI, Indiana Review, Narrative, and elsewhere. She was the 2018 winner of the Walter Sullivan Award from the Sewanee Review.

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