3535

after Eduardo C. Corral  

Peace trickles down the stream after a roaring waterfall.  
Placing its fingers on ivory keys, peace plays Chopin’s Nocturnes. 
In the fermata of the tune, peace finds tranquility.  
Peace floats inside my body, like swans on a lake.  
On a winter morning, peace sits on my window shaped like a snowflake.   
A flame kissing a cigarette after a party ignites a long-awaited peaceful drag.  
Simmering water on a stove has felt peace turn up the heat.  
At sunrise, peace savors café con leche.   
“Paz,” peace says in Spanish after a week of chaos.  
Peace counts glowing stars over my bed.  
In the bristles of my hairbrush, peace smuggles its way onto my scalp.  
After jumping off a swing, peace brushes the dirt off my knees.  
Biting into caramel drizzled apples, peace rushes to my cheeks.  
I have found it in the world around me. 

Dayanara Guzman

Threads of Peace