Micro Poetry by Margarita Serafimova

9 a.m.

Something would happen today 

that would be determinative.

The determination would be the prerogative 

of the Self.

The trees were blue against the morning shine. 

The Body of Space

The higher oak branches, spread, were its skeleton, 

and its flesh was astonishing.


Come, love of mine, I said, and walked my black dog 

right down the middle of the road 

ahead of me, 


The Invisible Train

By our timelessness, rails passed, 

and sometimes we would hear them.

A Scream of A Vixen

A witch of spring in the dusky wood.

Who will stay, who will leave? 

About the contributor

Margarita Serafimova is a finalist in nine U.S. and international poetry contests. She has four collections in Bulgarian and a chapbook, A Surgery of A Star (Staring Problem Press, CA). Her work appeared widely at Nashville Review, LIT, Waxwing, A-Minor, Trafika Europe, and elsewhere.

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