I swallow the words that die in my throat before they reach your soil.
I swallow the words that are ripped by the wind before they reach your ears.
While I sit with my hands in my lap, a fire ‘round your shoulders
dissolves your contours and lines, drawn as if they are my plans.
You are my refuge from the clouds that threaten Guatemalan skies.
You are the green mountain I ought to climb in the silver dew.
Soon I will cradle you in the ocean’s flaming corals.
Soon I will wake you like a hummingbird sipping from your neck.
Soon this paper will yellow, my tears will evaporate,
the pain will callous my existence.
But you will always be the heat that opens my door,
the sigh that ignites my obsession.
Laura Sweeney facilitates Writers for Life in central Iowa. She represented the Iowa Arts Council at the First International Teaching Artist’s Conference in Oslo, Norway. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Main Street Rag, Folia, East Jasmine Review, Yellow Chair Review, Wordrunner eChapbook, Balloons Lit. Journal,Canadian Woman Studies, and Nuclear Impact Anthology. She is an assistant editor for Eastern Iowa Review.