I look through the window
and find my favorite tree
the one not felled in front
of a small, newly minted school,
It is flailing in the wind
reminding me of a street lined
with many acacia trees
just like this one.
I pray something like a sun salutation
at high noon
only I am still like the sun
because I am tired
of the news of deaths
and living seems a crime
recalling your pure Italian smile
and how you never called
anymore.
Shalom Galve Aranas is a freelance writer published in Stereo Stories, The Literary Heist, The Blue Nib and elsewhere. She is a loving, single mother of two.
Art by Jenn Zed.
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