Country Song (Memory of Rain)

Sofija Popovska

 

Eyes are difficult because they're teeth;

Sometimes rich and gleaming, gliding¹ through a gilded² feast,

Wrapped in violent red velvet³, and luxurious⁴ dead ends;

(But I love the) murky⁵, melancholic⁶, playing matted music, looking over barren fields—

Fields are difficult because they're hands

Knots and rivers laying over eyes.

Blue smell of rain and dirt—veins⁷ smell like the skies split open, like the road behind slipping into the past.

Fingertips smell like a promise—

Ten thousand graves sigh at once;

A bruise⁸ is a promised haunting.

"Come, just this once," I ask, disingenuously⁹. I mean "a thousand times."

Bruises¹⁰ disappear into the past and a promise draws near.

An open grave plays the memory of rain when handled gently. The earth smells like fingertips on eyelids—a homeland rough and transient.

Heathens love the rain like I love the shadow of your eyelashes over freckles¹¹ and undiscovered celestial¹² bodies.

The sky splits open and veins cascade¹³ down nostalgically.

The road behind disappears into bruised¹⁴ earth, into ten thousand graves. I come to you, bringing a memory of rain.

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