growth

something’s growing 
on my hand 

it looks like 
flower petals 

or tentacles 
of a tiny octopus 

a seed fell 
in the garden 
of my flesh 

my aging skin 
desiccated 
dry 

welcomes 
a spear of growth 

imagine

I let myself imagine 
you are sleeping 

warming the coolness 
with your body’s heat 

I let myself imagine 
you are dreaming 

behind your lids 
a caravan of wonders 

your breath has stopped 
for no more 
than a moment 

pompeii

preserved 
in their ordeal 

the remnants speak 

eggs in a pot 
ready 
to be served 

a little dog eager 
to flee outside 

forever thwarted 
by a storm of ash 

rain

it’s turning out to be 
one of those winters 

skies burdened with rain 
aching with rain 

pigeons 
hugging themselves 
along the wall 

I wake reluctantly 

seeking safety 
from a hostile dawn 

endless cups of tea 
are never hot enough 
or sweet enough 

rainbow

an accident 
of birth 

rain and sun 
colliding 
before we vanish 

Eva Eliav

received her BA degree in English Language and Literature from The University of Toronto. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks: Eve (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2019) and One Summer Day (Kelsay Books, 2021). Her poetry and short fiction have appeared in numerous literary journals, including The Apple Valley Review, Constellations, Emrys Journal, The Fairy Tale Magazine, Fictive Dream, Flashquake, Gyroscope Review, The Ilanot Review, Luna Station Quarterly, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Minyan Magazine, ONE ART, and Stand.

You can find a selection of her poetry, fiction, and art at:
https://www.evaeliav.com/