Alessia Degraeve

[after Louise Gluck’s “Grandmother in the Garden”]


The dirt below your tomb

has bloomed 

with earthworms, and the sun

still keeps time

in lines and lines

of wind-smoothed stones,

elf-cap moss slow tip

toes over me

as I mourn you. 


My lifelong flame,

I sit here with last words.

I close my eyes,

and all my offerings burn,

blue breath curls

into wings, unfurls:


You are still angry with me.

I can still see the lining of your soul,

bright like mother-of-pearl,

crying, lighter than air.