Over the mountain, my doves breathe
Smuggling jasmine roses to the city
The smell of spring, mixed with enmity
In a vase, I stash my roses
nestled between my sheets
Every petal - aligns a memory in me
When the soldiers march, I plea
Where will my doves go, once I leave the city?

Silver feathers
drop from the sky
The dove sits patient
on a rambling bough
Strings of sun reveal shadows
of a shivered city
One bullet, one dove
Two doves, now one
When the soldiers march, I plea 
Where will my doves go, once I leave the city?

Inside, 
a needle snuggles between the folds
of a straw canvas
The light creeps through
the cracks in the window
Shadowing my mother’s figure
hefty, compact 
A cup of instant coffee
Her hand dances 
A harmonious melody
Between her,
the needle,
and the canvas.
When the soldiers march, I plea
Mama, 
where will my dove go, once I leave the city?

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