Sara Patterson
so there’s a shattered bell that will not ring
a girl and her lover are drowning in her hair
is a pearl and a green velvet ribbon
they’ll be found in a canal full of gowns of women
not yet married a priest’s voice a shadow in a nave
there is a net a dome a sky full of buttresses
flying from fear of pews and marble a dog drowns
in your grandmother’s crystal glass her gift
to a bride who will not see her wedding day
a veil and heels of silk to keep dress hem’s clean
I look for you on sidewalks but you’re up on the roof
wearing yellow your fingers made of rings
from your dead sister walk with me to the market
over a wooden bridge that was once marble
there are no paved streets here once
you would have held my hand once
you would have walked with me once you said
Remember the church basement filled with water
the family dog died the day you left
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Sara Patterson is a Toronto-based writer. Their work has appeared in Humber Literary Review (forthcoming), Electric Literature, Minola Review, Plenitude Magazine, and Sinking City Review, among others. Find a selection at: saralpatterson.com.