Dorsía Smith Silva
As a young girl,
you wore grace around you
like a sweater of floating water.
Once you married,
you became broken liquid
and bleeding lips of wet sorrow.
As a widow,
your body washed away slowly
like rain slipping through cupped hands.
When you died,
the sky swallowed your crippled pages
and made you again fluid amongst the stars.
Dorsía Smith Silva is an Associate Professor of English at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras. Her poems have most recently appeared in POUI, Mothers and Daughters, and Rigorous. She is currently editing two books and looking for different muses on her travels.