Landscape from a Train by Anja Chivukula

Red, all the olive fields were limned

with ruddy gold, laden branches sprouting

furrows, tangled boughs that carved them-

selves in gaps between the morning, havens

painted into crossties, stopgap limbs to pave 

anew the solar path. In patchwork shreds,

the silences sat struck, and some-

thing spoke   that could have been

a person        and no more, no

shatter-splash of riverbeds, no breath

but whistling shadows; half an ocean waxes

empty and dry hills sprawl on below. Red,

the riptide and its silhouettes, the fruit they bear alight.

Anja Chivukula is a junior at Barnard College studying philosophy, women’s studies, and Spanish translation. In her spare time, she plays the piano and organizes with NYC For Abortion Rights and No Red Tape Columbia. Currently, she is spending a semester abroad in Mexico City at the National Autonomous University of Mexico.

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