by Simon Baena
Border Crossing
Despite the country burning
for over a year,
you listened to the swarming
starlings.
The first dawn of summer.
The morning after
the funeral.
You threw the wreath,
scooped
the cold and clammy
earth,
whispering,
This is how I remember,
and placed it
in the jar
with the moon’s
last firefly.
Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena is the author of three chapbooks, most recently Ritual and Other Poems (Blue Horse Press). He has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize. His work has appeared in Poetry Daily, The Bitter Oleander, Osiris, The Columbia Review, The Midwest Quarterly, The Louisville Review, Mantis, Hawaii Pacific Review, Louisiana Literature, and elsewhere. He lives in the Philippines with his wife and child.