Volume No. XVIII
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XI
Volume No. X
Volume No. IX
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VI
Volume No. V
Volume No. IV
Volume No. III
Volume No. II
Volume No. I
Archives
Volume No. I
Volume No. II
Volume No. III
Volume No. IV
Volume No. V
Volume No. VI
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. IX
Volume No. X
Volume No. XI
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVIII
How beautiful. How beautiful your sleeping face.
Bright eyes shadowed shut with glimmering stitches.
Oh tiny mole. Gleaming hair with sleeping brain
inside dreaming. Tender spots. Shine.
I am looking down from high, high
and I say there is nothing cruel, average, or beastly anywhere.
As I lay beside you, large houses grow.
Angels sleep between the bedposts. Children peep from doorways.
Someone laughs. No one snickers.
Measuring your breath, jet trails. I'm the pilot kneeling
at the side of your bed. My homage is a beacon
in the settle down darkness. This room is a trance. Your body
a traveling fair, a white church. I dare anyone to wake you.
Lea Banks works for The Marlboro Review and is poetry editor for Equinox Magazine. She is an MFA candidate at New England College and conducts poetry workshops in her area while facilitating writing workshops for stroke survivors. She was published recently in Slipstream, Poetry Northwest and Diner. Lea survived two bouts of cancer in her early 20s and has been cancer-free for over 20 years.
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