Rita Rouvalis Chapman Dear Syria

I was talking to the sky,

and we were speaking in blue

about how to wear birds

draped like a scarf, low and fringed and


how to wear bombs like drop pearls

each falling from the silver breast of a plane and


about how to wear oil fires like pendants

each finger reaching up to

skirt along the edges of an orange evening


This is how I learned to wear your ghosts like buttons

and drink your fear like hot tea and

this is how I learned to dream of eating

my own future.


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