Mora
by Nina Pelaez
I envy the moon — who casts her gleaming nets towards the camber of your neck. The light that kisses at your face — solace, draws you from a dream. And night — the moth that settles into that quiet curve of your lip. A strand of corn silk hair floats from your chest. The ink stain on the carpet takes the shape of a wing. Shadow of a bird singing, a candle about to go out. Have you seen the patina of her eyes? Felt the smooth crescents of her feet? Only to be that light. To sleep beneath quilts embroidered with the stars.
Nina Pelaez was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. For the past four years she has been living and studying in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania, but is looking forward to moving back to New York this summer. When she isn't writing poetry or studying art history, Nina especially loves to spend her time cooking, gardening, and making books. She has what she would like to think is a healthy addiction to thrift stores and has, without even realizing it, become an ardent collector of antique apothecary bottles.
When asked to name her favourite fruit, Nina replied, "fresh picked raspberries. Growing up, my parents would drive to a small farm in upstate New York to pick raspberries in late July. It was always so hot. My basket never came back very full."
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