A Kind of Lost Eloquence by Lana Bella

This would be late ’89.
Liquid eyes shrunk into
a winter body; pale lips
sipped absinthe mingled
with the rotting and wet-
wooled earth. My arriving
to the country sunk in
a sea of stones, supple
through the native land
until my bone was a kind
of lost eloquence fixing to
post as abandoned silo.
Skin plateaued, fingertips
spooned downward like
knelt seats of benevolence,
I became a whisper that
prevailed on, a fossil of my
own self before I was born.



A Pushcart nominee, Lana Bella is an author of two chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016) and Adagio (forthcoming from Finishing Line Press), has had her poetry and fiction featured with over 200 journals, including Columbia Journal, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Writing Disorder, Third Wednesday, and elsewhere, among others.Lana resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam.