An ode to eyelashes
To the fluttering harpstring gates
that protect the windows to my soul,
I offer my deepest condolences.
For you have felt the loss of every
Tear, far more than I, the lone
rain cloud in heaven.
I’ve asked a violin to wait outside
In the grassy fields of morning
and catch dew upon her strings.
But I forgot how she could
have made music
Briana Craig (she/her) moonlights as a writer of stories, poetry, and plays. She recently published poetry in FOLIO, Decomp, Bourgeon Magazine, and more. IG: @bri.and.her.books Twitter: @brianacraig1