Brink

A fickle branch, the door:       her only thought
was of blue pansies, white pots, and a splurge
of camellias, thick as thieves. She sought 
the hose, serpentine in shade. Past a hedge

of hollies, the earth dipped on the verge
of squishy, amid hard stones, nowhere eth-

ereal.               All at once, the air was a death-
less between; like pure porcelain, her thumb
on the rim—no breadth at all—while her breath
slipped.           Only then did the humming bird hum. 

Sofia Starnes

Sofia Starnes served as Virginia Poet Laureate from 2012 to 2014 and is the author of six poetry collections, most recently The Consequence of Moonlight (Paraclete Press, 2018). She has received a Poetry Fellowship from the Virginia Commission for the Arts, among other commendations, including five Pushcart Prize nominations. From 2007 to 2019, she served as Poetry Editor and Poetry Book Review Editor for The Anglican Theological Review. Her most recent publication is a book translation, Unveiling Memories, Spain and the Hispanic Contribution to U.S. Independence (Iberdrola, 2019).

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