by Anca Vlasopolos 

Equinox Swings

you’d think equinox means scales perfectly balanced
our tilting world for once in harmony

yet the arc of sun over trees and water cuts itself thinner
thinner each day         while moon’s arc rises            grows triumphant

nights almost lighter              for longer than days
shadows thrown against lit shades cunningly           each withheld dark

Unrest of Migrant Selves

spring is the time for leaving
may the most dangerous month

the time when whatever thought of unfurling
finds itself pierced by inexorable claws
fripperies stripped
excrescences dropped off

            as body deftly opened
lets go its cling to earth
pulse    breath     tendon    shocks of neurons

beats    wings
blind to all holds
but zugunruhe*

wild for flight

*ornithological term for migratory restlessness

Snailing to (Perchance) Byzantium

as i am crawling toward old age
i try to leave behind my habit(at)
glorious though it was
stylus-scored spirals mauve against moss-green
inscribing all—exuberance    pain     sorrows    terrors

 at my age
i cannot sail forth       a proud naked muscle
or fight for deserted shacks to hide my nakedness

i will confess i need a little cover

yet this less solid        more translucent         shabbier habit(at) i make
replicates in (admittedly) more muted tones upon a flimsier canvas
the scar collection i so tried to shed

About the Author:


Anca Vlasopolos is the author of the award-winning novel The New Bedford Samurai; the award-winning memoir No Return Address: A Memoir of Displacement; three collections of poems, Cartographies of Scale (and Wing) (2015); Walking Toward Solstice (2012); and Penguins in a Warming World (2007); three poetry chapbooks, a detective novel, Missing Members, and over two hundred poems and short stories.