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.