Yesterday I Believed

Elizabeth Breen

the final
wisteria blossoms
had silk-slipped away

delicate lavender
lanterns strung from tele-
phone pole to strangled tree

an opulent scene
to be swept
by rain or wind or time

I was sure I would never
see them again
I closed my eyes to burn them

in memory
in anticipation of absence
(I’m leaving here soon)

but today they burst anew
transcendent weep-weeds
the whole world swims violet

an ending is near
when you say to yourself
this will never end

---

Elizabeth Breen lives and teaches in Mexico City. Her poetry has appeared in Redivider, Raleigh Review, Jabberwock Review, Waccamaw, and other places.