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A SORRY ECHO
From a little mountain nymph who lost her voice
I would love to align
with the split sun
across the creek, by the extension of
noontime, and be arched
in the breath
beneath your awe.
I recall, I recall
dead blueee
that kissed yourself,
the bemused pool,
the expiry gaps between words
I intended to fill with shouting his lips away
from the selfish liquid you.
I would,
I would
never
again love you,
Narcissus,
in the broken glass snow.
Snow’s memory collapsed in mosaics—
watching erosion of the body,
won’t touch you,
touch you.
Mariana Gurgis is a writer, choreographer, dancer, and student from King City, Ontario. She is completing her Bachelor of Arts degree, a joint Specialist in English Literature and Philosophy, at the University of Toronto’s Victoria College. Mariana has previously had work published in Contemporary Verse 2 and ditch poetry.
Email: Mariana Gurgis
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