is the taste of artichoke
the feeling of Fall.
Somehow it's your shoulder its dryness
at the sound of my quiet wet tears.
It's the hard rind of an old wooden chair
under my sits bones.
The knock of ice under winter boots
during a long walk.
It's the damp fresh ground after rain
when I have time to notice
that it has rained
and it has stopped.
—Ana C.H. Silva