Darla Himeles’s poems and translations appear in recent or forthcoming issues of Off the Coast, 5 AM, Weave Magazine, OVS, and Cerise Press. “A Taste” appears in Volume 2, Issue 2 of burntdistrict.
By Darla Himeles
When your heart quits
I’ll be barreling down some back road,
embraced by a blur
of ordinary splendor – Highland cattle, heaving
fields of grasses and goldenrod,
mailboxes sturdy on wood posts,
some empty. Consider what visions grip
then. Maybe the road becomes living
room carpet, my arms folded loose
round your shoulders. Maybe my body
lifts like lace from the car window,
clutched in the small talons of cardinals,
light and air right through me.
Maybe they set me in a sunburst park
picnic, everything gold. Your irises glint
amber, and pinot gris numbs our lips
beside their ambulance-red wings.
I’ve heard when death dismantles dreams,
they become flecks of stories airborne
on discarded orange peels
or pollen. They itch the tongue
when we breathe.