Bloom
Ana Fores-Tamayo
©Ana Fores-Tamayo
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Children play the iron bars of river tracks
meandering in that concrete maze,
while the tree,
forlorn in gray decrepitude,
strides forth its wicked laugh,
taunting cigar smoke
and putrid breath of drink.
The old man lords his leaves
fallen in the winter spectacle of snow,
of purity deflowered –
that molten sound of fury,
its horns disheveled
in a piercing cry of anguished sigh.
And who the child does play
his fingers torn in blood red sputters
scream of life gone wrong?
And what the man the woman
slashes faces of united severed bond?
In death, the nails encroach
embittered growth
upon the marrowed yellow of decaying bones,
while bloom the flowers
in that instant of destructive fire,
annihilating souls,
which must endure
once more
no more
meandering in that concrete maze,
while the tree,
forlorn in gray decrepitude,
strides forth its wicked laugh,
taunting cigar smoke
and putrid breath of drink.
The old man lords his leaves
fallen in the winter spectacle of snow,
of purity deflowered –
that molten sound of fury,
its horns disheveled
in a piercing cry of anguished sigh.
And who the child does play
his fingers torn in blood red sputters
scream of life gone wrong?
And what the man the woman
slashes faces of united severed bond?
In death, the nails encroach
embittered growth
upon the marrowed yellow of decaying bones,
while bloom the flowers
in that instant of destructive fire,
annihilating souls,
which must endure
once more
no more
Once a child refugee, Ana Fores-Tamayo advocates for marginalized refugee families from Mexico and Central America. Working with asylum seekers is heart-wrenching, so poetry is her escape. She has published in The Raving Press, Laurel Review, Indolent Books and many other anthologies and journals, online and in-print. Her poetry in translation & photography have been featured at home and internationally. Through poetry, she keeps tilting at windmills.
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