Poetry by Robin Ray
After I turn against you, who’s
to speculate about me now that
my cupboards are bare and my
imagination can’t stifle hunger?
Can you sleep where hawthorns
moan about the belch from coal
factories? My head’s on a bunk
but my feet’s in a ravine, muddied,
crawling under barbed wire,
cursing the ones I loved. There’s
an aperture to sneak through but
it’s too narrow, so spare me the
guilt. After the rainstorm of bullets,
I long to breathe the same air as
suburban tulips do, the eddies of
my life illumined with forgiveness.
About the Poet
Robin Ray, formerly from Trinidad & Tobago, resides in Port Townsend, WA. Educated in English Composition at Iowa State University, his works have appeared at Aphelion, Red Fez, Neologism Poetry Journal, Scarlet Leaf Review, Spark, and elsewhere.
Vita Brevis Press. 