Cargo

I
   tell

the leaf

it deserves

a          poem

and        it nods

in        agreement.

I ask           the rain

to keep            falling

for me                  and it

shatters            at my feet.      

The wind         impregnates

me                      with longing.               

Above,        that        ridiculous           

blue        swallows me,          too.

   What

       am I

   if not

        a boat                  made of flesh,

carrying words               from one

        shore       of a presence

             to another?


Originally from Chisinau, Moldova, Romana Iorga lives in Switzerland. She is the author of two poetry collections in Romanian. Her work in English has appeared or is forthcoming in Bellingham Review, The Hunger, American Literary Review, PANK, and others, as well as on her poetry blog at clayandbranches.com.