Poem by Carol Kuruvilla, Grade 11

the river creaks through ancient city gates
falling in drops that kiss the dust
on the sun streaked marble

plains of my face that
hate the way you look at me as
if I hurt you with this white morning

lie on the water while the gondola
swings softly with the current
of splintered, unsteady ocean

waves that would shatter and curse the moment
I broke the light with my tempest
so strong I don't hate

you touch the sleeping water
and drown in the echoes of silence
that cry between our bridge of sighs