Swimming to Syria

Page 25

Al-Bara winds into groves, where winter branches hang heavy with rain, and olive trees are mud sunk red like my boots after I squish through a frame of branches opening to a stone tower. Other tombs open skyward, their triangle tops gone as if pushed right off the peaked lid where spirits float up, and the living muck into another day.

Swimming to Syria 23


Turn static files into dynamic content formats.

Create a flipbook
Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.