Silvia Bonilla

I pressed you against my heart
when I was sad with all my organs

but my fingers.

I cried a rubber band,
snapped towards skies.

Photo Booth Shot, the pitch of your
voice seeded

my morphed head.
Where did that lead me?

But to check my throat
full with your burning name.

What a waste,
never having complete happiness.

In paper, there's Spring now,
red ink now,

because one does not know its own mistakes
unless it bends over the notebook with madness.

A question mark at the end of a sentence
is a god who must be answered to.

Silvia Bonilla is a Saltonstall Foundation for the Arts fellow. She has received scholarships from The Vermont College of Fine Arts and Colgate Writers Conference. Her work has appeared in Green Mountains Review, Rhino, Reed Magazine, Cream City Review, Jet Fuel Review, Pen and Brush, The Puritan, and Cimarron Review. She is the author of An Animal Startled By The Mechanisms Of Life. She holds an MFA in poetry from The New School.
Instragram: bonillasilviap

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