POETRY BY ANTHONY THOMAS LOMBARDI

ON LISA “LEFT EYE” LOPES’S STAY IN REHAB & WHY I STILL SING TO THE DEAD

a woman steps into a body

of water. her own 

choosing. torrential wind

kicks the brown lake

out of her. of course

she’s still breathing.

you know they’re waiting

in the wings, but you’re doing

your thing. when you awake

fresh as forests,

you’ll spill fire —

set waterfalls

aflame. the bathtub is

filled with jewels.

whichever quiet

is the one worth

your bearing

is the one you’ll soak

in fluids sweet

as mud. calf-deep in a pool

of cuttlefish.

sometimes rainbows don’t

belong to us. on soft nights 

you sing their colors

& they’re almost

summonable: cerulean. 

magnolia. car crash.

sometimes religion

is a fresh bruise, a gift

still dripping with God’s

rosewater. calendula tied

to your wrist like blood

pressure: eternal baptism.

the ceiling fan swinging

overhead like a dirty

word, papavers still

burning, but you’re bent on

picking them anyway.

Anthony Thomas Lombardi is a poet / writer and former music journalist. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Wildness, Third Coast, Gigantic Sequins, Dialogist, American Poetry Journal, Alegrarse Journal, Twyckenham Notes, Permafrost Magazine, Poetry City, and elsewhere. He currently serves as a poetry reader for the Adroit Journal, advocates for mental health and addiction awareness, and lives in Brooklyn, NY with his cat, Dilla.