by Natalie Marino
Your plain pine box,
under an indigo sky
without one star,
and I do not know
where to go next.
Had you told me
I could look for you
in the trees,
I would listen to the
open mouths of leaves
and their wind song stories
of tomorrow’s rainbow,
how even in darkening
corners of daylight hope hides
inside the scarlet sunset,
how always again
the sun joins the clear blue
water and seagulls dance
without music,
that they let love search
for gold in sand,
for color in black
and white photographs.
Natalie Marino is a poet, physician, and mother. Her work appears in Barren Magazine, Capsule Stories, Dust Poetry Magazine, Leon Literary Review, Literary Mama, Moria Online, Re-side, and elsewhere. She also reads poetry submissions for Bracken Magazine. She lives in California.
Emerge Literary Journal 