Ferny tendrils curl behind an array of bushes
in watercolors of green and purple; green like
eyes, not envy, and purple not like passion
but a priest’s Lenten robes. In the midst
of the foliage stands a light-stone birdbath,
gray-blue water shining in its bowl. It seems
a sanctuary, a perfect place to forgive
and be forgiven, to baptize oneself like
a morning bird. It seems a setting where a nun
might brush the long strands of purple leaves
like hair, might gaze at her reflection in the bath
and see a good woman staring back. It seems
an ideal place to fall in love, if one must fall
in love; a gentle place to die, if one must die.
Annie Przypyszny is a student at American University, majoring in Creative Writing. She is also the assistant poetry editor for The Adirondack Review. Her poetry is published or forthcoming in 30 North, The Oakland Arts Review, Pacifica Literary Review, ANGLES, North Dakota Quarterly, Ponder Review, and elsewhere.