by Karina Longo
Your Name is a Place
It is Ireland –
every dew-scented flat
where folks gather by the fireplace
singing Dubliners, cheeks flushed
by burning poitín and laughter.
It is Britain, too,
every corner of the Welsh seaside
in December,
when the world has gone indoors
to curse the cold,
while I watch the fog swirl
from the top of the cliff.
It is all the places
marked by yearning.
The heart of a young lover
could be named after you,
especially when tears choke them,
takeaway forgotten
on the sidewalk,
chalk smearing in trembling hands.
Your name waits in the darkness,
longing to be shouted
at dawn.
Your name is a place—
It is home.
It is,
home.
Milk, Bread, and Butter
I think you’re a vegan,
but I bet you still think
fondly of when your mother
poured you milk and spread warm butter
on toast and cheese whenever you
came back home.
A memory is a memory,
clean from all weight that
comes with the
falling
leaves.
This is far from a lack of conviction;
be fond of when you bloomed
like peonies in May
whenever a hand clasped yours,
and a whisper seemed a promise,
not a threat.
****
Karina Longo is a neurodiverse Brazilian-Italian poet currently based in Milan. Her poetry has been featured or is forthcoming in online publications including Expat Press, Be About It Press, Resurrection Mag, Micromance Magazine, Londemere Lit, Prosetrics, cataloguing poetry, Lucky Creature and Rough Diamond Poetry Journal. Karina was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She is the EIC of La Rotonde Review. Find her on X: @TheDarkestStar_