Valentina Cano: In Amber



I turned to stone
that Saturday morning.
It wasn’t slow.
There were no gasps
as my fingers dried like corn husks,
or as my hair locked in place,
never to feel the breeze again.
There was no time for that.
In one second, I was staring
out of eyes sewn to our walls.
There was no blinking.
I was alone,
staring out into a room
I could no longer shut out.



In Amber

Softly, you turn.
Your face is a mask of ash,
drifting with the currents,
with my moods.
You peer at me out of cottonwood eyes
that reflect fires I’ve not yet set.
Cares I’ve not flung at you
like dirty clothes.
Stay like that.
Just like that, for an instant,
while I bring out
my words and boil them alive.


 Unwinding a Life

It happened when I wasn’t looking.
It came, dragging its chains
of scorching days,
each fused to gather your image.
It tore through my house,
ripping my silences,
husking my voice
until it lay in tendrils on the floor.
The way it happened
is still a locked room dilemma,
murderer and victim
blinking in the harsh light of reality.
The day rose, the walls already scored with red.



-Valentina Cano


Copyright© 2012, by Valentina Cano. All Rights Reserved.


Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time she has either writing or reading. Her works have appeared in Popshot, Golden Sparrow Literary Review, The Black Fox Literary Magazine, Ontologica, Congruent Spaces Magazine, and Danse Macabre among numerous others. You can find her here:



Valentina Cano: In Amber
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