Will you object if I called you now?
Not through phone lines,
to hearts that have stopped beating.
Not with a voice that had learned
the language of trees
(ivy and oak, my dear)
I mean call you through this rip in my room.
Through the hole in my bed
I can plunge my arm through.
Call you up from the winter month
to where you need to be.
My voice red as a pomegranate seed.
Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time either writing or reading. Her works have appeared in Exercise Bowler, Blinking Cursor, Theory Train, Cartier Street Press, Berg Gasse 19, Precious Metals, A Handful of Dust, The Scarlet Sound, The Adroit Journal, Perceptions Literary Magazine, Welcome to Wherever, The Corner Club Press, Death Rattle, Danse Macabre, Subliminal Interiors, Generations Literary Journal, Super Poetry Highway, Stream Press, Stone Telling, Popshot, Golden Sparrow Literary Review, Rem Magazine, Structo, The 22 Magazine, The Black Fox Literary Magazine, Niteblade, Tuck Magazine, Ontologica, Congruent Spaces Magazine, Pipe Dream, Decades Review, Anatomy, Lowestof Chronicle, Muddy River Poetry Review, Lady Ink Magazine, White Masquerade Anthology and Perhaps I’m Wrong About the World. You can find her here: http://carabosseslibrary.blogspot.com