War Zone

Ana Prundaru


you mourn stability in empty things

meditate in the corpse pose

empty wallets match empty rooms

but no intention fits that hollow


to the sky, you’re looking for fullness

to people, you are anachronistically delightful

their chatter dissolves behind curtained windows

your bed becomes a confessional cabinet


how you want to inhabit spaces as bloodless bowls of your DNA

the way morning quietly peels the horizon off your eyes

for now, you fashion yourself to the tiniest adjectives of sickness


you take off your dress by the lake,

count the mud flowers warming your joints

the knot in your throat rounds you off to a harbor

prayer-hands extend and break to ships

sway away every regret

you chuckle mouthfuls of cold sand

the coast pulls up and ships capsize

your limbs spill back to a vaguely familiar picture

a shadow hovers above the pillow

shakes the dead engine to flashing lights

smile, like it’s a picture


there was this imprisoned body orphaned in a folded image

and just moments later it spilled out wet and butterflying

an engulfment like a scream without a wide enough landing space

seagulls suffused with diamond dust

a gentle dark spell washes up on the shore

not long and your stains will be everywhere


Ana Prundaru is a multidisciplinary artist living in Switzerland. She has been published in The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Thrice Fiction, 3:AM Magazine, CALYX and Kyoto Journal, among other places. Her latest poetry collection “Anima” is forthcoming from dancing girl press.