Cristina DeSouza is a poet and physician recently relocated to Vermont. She has had several poems published in Portuguese, her mother idiom, and in English (The Voices Project, Synesthesia Literary Journal, Poetry Pacific, San Diego Poetry Annual to cite a few). As a physician, she is an internist and hematologist, as a poet she tends to prefer lyrical poetry. She has had a book of poems published in Portuguese, in Brazil in 2011.
I don’t write about peach-colored
roses in a garden starred with petals.
I only watch the desert in bloom,
poem of thorns where birds drink
green cacti in arid soil.
Poetry in the desert is not to be
written about, but to be observed
with eyes dressed in awe and
spirit devoid of prejudice against
the solitary flower that sprouts from
the fractures of dry earth.
And dry is also my verve that
is drained as sweat through my pores
seduced by the scent of the lonely
rose, born in silence and hope.
It’s Spring in the desert, while I
listen to quails and watch blue
butterflies. The wind coming
from the South reminds me
of the tropic where I was born.
There the desert is an ocean of water
where my memory drowns under
seemingly blue skies.