Hedy Habra

Drop by Drop

 

My temples stream with cold sweat like the walls of a subterranean

cave, I need air, my heart spins, grows into a spiral, becomes

petrified into a shell sealed around a Mayan cenote, a deep green

pool filled with the mute echo of sacrificial virgins’ sighs: my dreams

drown within the ashes of my memories, with dry eyes, I taste the

salt of swollen tears as they flow away in an eternal drip, infiltrating

through the fissures of mother of pearl: valves burst into a gigantic

wave, propelling me out of myself over foam-covered dunes.

  

 

First published by The Bitter Oleander

From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)

  

 

Unborn

I have no eyes, no ears, no lips, a flower drawn from the wild seed

of their eyes, elytra’s spark in the darkening riverbed, a trembling

protean flame rising from an elusive space where skin meets skin.

Hand in hand, they watch me grow tongues of flame licking the

warm air, extending like fingers in a glove, intertwined vines

blossoming in fiery petals. They hear the rustling of dry leaves nearby,

a droplet bursting on a tin gutter, a crack in the icy roof, a tear of

melting snow, read the sudden silence of wind chimes, hear me

whisper: yes, I am, I know . . .

 

 

First published by GraFemas: Letras Femeninas.Winner of Victoria Urbano Prize.

Set to music by Michael Rose and performed by the soprano Laura Strickling as part of her 40@40 Art Anthology (2026)

Collected in Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)