Lena
written by: Corey Brockington
To fathom that Lena may be
permanently gone is
a difficult reality to grasp.
It’s strange, during each unforeseen
occurrence of death, how
much one realizes the
significance of a loved one. i recall
When i was first introduced to
Lena
in a group chat for the protest
book we were working toward, where
i
intuitively surmised that she was
someone of particular fine
quality, the kind of beauty from which
kaleidoscopes finesse their patterns of identity.
So rare
She appeared to me, like an aurora dancing
affront a blood moon, ahead of her time
at the solar eclipse that was once in blue.
Still i hope
Upon a wishing star for shadows at noon, that
she’s living life in perhaps Amsterdam, waving
backward at the moment her arms and legs, praising God
among tulip fields as if she’s impressing angels
upon snow.
