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BIO
Lana Bella, a Pushcart nominee, is an author of two chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016) and Adagio (Finishing Line Press, forthcoming), has had poetry and fiction featured with over 300 journals, 2River, California Quarterly, Chiron Review, Columbia Journal, Poetry Salzburg Review, San Pedro River Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, The Ilanot Review, The Writing Disorder, Third Wednesday, Tipton Poetry Journal, Yes Poetry, and elsewhere, among others. She resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps. |
DEAR SUKI: NUMBER NINETEEN
Dear Suki: London, December 11th,
there's always a diphthong nearing,
licks and ends ricochet the length of
my tongue. Between Greenwich and
Hounslow, snowed air is leaden with
the flex of firm winter grains, starving
me of your fair long coat kibbling the
pale avenues. Yet you, with your pilfer-
ing of my acute masochism, ushered
dignity presaged by tarmac flights into
this city's cocktail hour, left me waiting
wet and empty swishing on the concrete.
The day will collapse in the blind belly
of tolling bells, when I winked rheumy
eyes travelling your staccato dark, like
a two-stroke calligraphy etching images
of a body languishing into the vacancy for
the woman in white under a glorious sky.
Dear Suki: London, December 11th,
there's always a diphthong nearing,
licks and ends ricochet the length of
my tongue. Between Greenwich and
Hounslow, snowed air is leaden with
the flex of firm winter grains, starving
me of your fair long coat kibbling the
pale avenues. Yet you, with your pilfer-
ing of my acute masochism, ushered
dignity presaged by tarmac flights into
this city's cocktail hour, left me waiting
wet and empty swishing on the concrete.
The day will collapse in the blind belly
of tolling bells, when I winked rheumy
eyes travelling your staccato dark, like
a two-stroke calligraphy etching images
of a body languishing into the vacancy for
the woman in white under a glorious sky.
