Nicole Borello - No Formal Burial
No Formal Burial I dreamt the roses died. The shape and odor melted into a red ocean. I dreamt I was gnawing on a warm piece of bread. A delusional delicacy disappearing from my palms. My dead branches poked with drought and dusted with barren earth, bleed thin twigs. I dreamt I was awake, that within the dream their bellies were full. They were different versions of myself: skinny, fed, bloated, in peasant bondage, feverish, tenant in a tenant-landlord brawl. I can’t seem to escape the spiral of my children’s limbs. My milkless breasts lead my children into misery. …guigh orainn na peacaigh, (pray for us sinners) …anois, agus ar uair ár mbáis (now and at the hour of our death) And I dig the earth just to prepare. Nicole Borello is the author of So What If I Bleed (Llumina Press, 2010), Fried Fish an