By: Adriana Stimola
You are always exploding, unseeable, coming together, something new, knowable, for now: looming, lined with God’s light; thumb-lick rubbed from here to heaven; a solitary ceiling sail; piled and playing at life on land; cresting in atmosphere, soundless crashing, without a care for our craned necks, the casual rounding of our shoulders, spells we work to climb the glass of our open container.
ADRIANA STIMOLA is a non-fiction literary agent, mother and ever-aspiring poet. Her poetry has most recently been published in The Santa Clara Review, Harbor Review, Beyond Words, House Journal and Juke Joint. You can find her on instagram @adrianastimola.
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