Survision Logo

SurVision Magazine

An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.

Issue Twelve




To separate the soul
from the body,
                          is an undressing: first

              skirt, then blouse
                                and slip,
 the final lace
 of arms, etcetera, before

the soul comes into view.

It takes a certain willingness
to be like the rose

in the garden, shedding its petals
to be vulnerable, to forego
the dishes and mopping,

to make room in a bed
where you are

and are not alone
                     because the last petal of the last rose
has come in through the window

to lie alongside you,
to teach you to discard your own
lace of petals

for the moment the horse appears,
to see the horse grazing,
                       in love with pasture, grass,

              and the naked wind.


There's the beauty, of course, of one and negative one,
                   moon and negative moon, a mountain

and the good feet of the righteous valley
                    below it. Even the dark cave

of the mouth has its own flicker of rose—
                    even the darkness has its own speck

of candle. There's the round prayer of Ferris
                   wheels, versus the straight breath of ladders

the soft prayer of a child kneeling next to bed
                    against the loud cry of the repentant thief

which is beautiful enough to make the unbelieving
                    coat on the clothes rack fall to its knees,

because that flock of birds flying out of sight in the sky
                  will always be visible to someone, somewhere.

Eva Skrande grew up in Cuba and Miami, Florida, and now lives in Texas. She is the author of Bone Argot (Spuyten Duyvil, 2019) and My Mother's Cuba (River City Publishing, 2010). Her poems have appeared in Agni, American Poetry Review, The Iowa Review, Prism International, Alaska Quarterly, SurVision, etc.

Copyright © 2023 SurVision Magazine