Eva Skrande
Moths
I’d like to come back as a rose
unafraid of debt,
as the small breath of butterflies,
or the grace of tulips
standing straight, again, after the wind has bent them to one side or another,
maybe even as a boat
named God’s Tear. I’d like my heart to open wide
and never hurt me. I want
my knees to be the place
where the prayers of injured birds are listened to. I want to be
the cloth, torn or untorn,
made holy
by covering bread on a dinner table,
or the fire keeping the hopes of beggars warm. Instead
of an immigrant wandering
between the corners of earth, let me be a house
full of pomegranates and pears, let me try
being a hummingbird
that my burdens be light,
but my wings be strong. Let me
give water
to those who have walked through deserts
rather than receive stones.
Let me come back
as the bench people rest on by graves, to soften the sadness
leaving the cocoon of the mouth
like innocent moths
unaware of the darkness.