Eva Skrande was born in Havana, Cuba and grew up in Miami. She earned a B.A. from Sarah Lawrence College, an M.F.A. from Iowa, and is currently finishing a Ph.D. in Creative Writing at the University of Houston. Her poems have appeared in the American Poetry Review, American Voice, Iowa Review, Ploughshares, and the Alaska Quarterly, among others. Her chapbook, the Gates of the Somnambulist was published by Jeanne Duval Editions
There were, my trumpet, at least seven directions between us,
the wolves exiled just east of your hair's allegories
and the western corner of your shoulder
where birds come with their sirens to celebrate
our corn's anniversary. How easily along the coast
Within your arches, I am moon and corn.
Church where winter crows, church of souls
that wear shoes, church of birds playing hopscotch.
My tribes and your thighs' rivers are one.
O altar of horses and sweat,
To stand in the blink of the cemetery as between centuries
And hide from the river of oxen.
To go with the bones, to go with the bones.
To refuse the dust of the harp. There's no difference
Between the promise of death's aubade and the laugh of nails.