Two poems by Marisa Silva-Dunbar


We sit in the doorway and watch the summer storm,
as it overtakes the mountain. Rain is supposed to be
a rebirth, healing. The primrose blossoms he planted
under the window, catch the drops before they soak
the earth. They’ve been waiting for this type of downpour.

I can’t help watching him as the thunder rumbles
deep in the hills. He doesn’t fear storms—
is a soothing presence, a balm that I find
when I need it most. In these last few months
I’ve come alive, unfurled. I reach for him—
we’ve grown back together. His lips on my neck,
my hands in his hair; in this moment we are real.


Liminal Space

Between dreams and being awake,/ I hold my breath. Wait. The flicker/ of fluorescent lights, neon signs;/ an empty gas station in the mist.// Take a walk with me through an abandoned mall/ —we have been here before when the arcade/ called our names and we followed the carpet of stars./ The thrum of hearts and slushies melting, creating pools of sugar;/ the drip drip never stopping.// We were gods here/ idols in the now empty food court;/ chairs and tables tipped in a resting tableau./ Sbarro can’t save us now, as we fade into oblivion.// Let me cradle this nostalgia overgrown with philodendron.


Marisa Silva-Dunbar’s work has been published in ArLiJo, Chantarelle’s Notebook, Pink Plastic House, Sledgehammer Lit, Analogies & Allegories Literary Magazine. She has work forthcoming in The Bitchin’ Kitsch. Her second chapbook, “When Goddesses Wake,” was released in December, 2021 from Maverick Duck Press. Her first full-length collection, “Allison,” was recently published by Querencia Press. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram @thesweetmaris. To check out more of her work go to

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