Books – Janna Lopez

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{wind dream poem} It’s strange. I’m sailing in

{wind dream poem} It’s strange. I’m sailing in a large metal bucket, filled with water, above a hillside in flames. Sparks linger before my eyes, orange fireflies frantically searching for home. Only, beneath a slab of iron smoke home vanished. My bucket of water is ambiguous—am I meant to dump water to save someone or something? Or does the water serve as a moat of protection as flames encroach? Either way, I must sail through a shower of embers; face the chaos; fly into remnants of ash and bone as a human alive. Alive to debris. In solidarity with charred hearts. Embers carrying wedding photo dust. Embers holding word ghosts from old lovers, once-boxed letters reposed in a closet or garage. Embers floating, above angry hillsides consumed by heat and fury decimating secrets that once lived between sheets and walls of houses that perished. All a house holds—objectsfurniturephotosdreamspetspaintingslampsplantsfooddisheslovelossflowersbathsoaptowelssuitsshowercapscarsplanscomputersdocumentstimebirthdaypartiesfuneralsforkswinebooksandmorebookstreasuresdrapeswindowsalifetimeofstuffthatmeanteverythingnowdustandrubble. Memories incinerated. Memories ignited. Sentimental objects that might’ve been held, admired, for one mere moment, had winds been kind. gusts. w i l d.

g
o
n e. . .

grace for the mothers

no one said mothers
as one—
with one—
would get all mysterious
impervious boxes
stacked, lined, loved, stored

a holy tetris, we are not

for my own 2 lovelies
i stretch limbs
sacrificed every thirsty morsel
poured every well-drop
into growing mouths
please please please please
i pray…
in the name of eternal love
arrange an implausible—
perfect human imperfection
just for them

still, somehow
corners turn towards shadow
as mother

where does grace birth?
as child,

just for me
i silently endorsed
perfection
from human imperfection
i silently demanded
implausible arrangements

birth grace as child
birth grace for mothers

her eternal love resides
she must have her own alter
where prayers of hope and sorrow
become droplets
pooled into well water
to pour
to pour

lineages of time and
limbs scattered into
maternal stars,
a constellation
of forgotten grace

Sign up for writing lab 2025 before 12/31 and the

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soltice sun doesn’t set on regretful eves it re

soltice

sun doesn’t set on regretful eves
it rests in solstice morsels

hardship, no less,
missed stitches
steps untraced
all brokenness stuffed
into our leaky sky

you watched from your own silence
choking
choking
vials of lungs and lies and all those
claws and tendrils
almost within reach

you watched from your own silence
because you could not name

despondence—

its texture became a complication

so instead, you grew vacant
hid behind your own
allusion

no one, really, wants to drown
paddle, wade, sink…
sink, wade, paddle…
it becomes easier to drift through salt

passages of ascension
through stretched days
are kind and unkind
with mercy
solstice ensures
transcendence remains undefinable
memories can’t be detained

which leaves our apex—
we reside in a balance of love

blink! the instance is gone

you tell me I missed the point?
you tell me to kiss the point?

maybe, the point’s
in a silence rubble
you’re shouting for hope…

as dark settles in,
you’re pleading for hope

please… you pray
please…
help me believe

extend a length of my sun
my arms will reach
through forthcoming rain
reparations of exiled grace
will pour beyond midnight

i promise:
i’ll swallow forgiveness
i’ll bathe in stars of letting go

i’ll even let dormant flower beds dream
of longer light’s
celebration

By Janna Lopez

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