Poetry by Elvis Alves

​
​Garden


I sit in you to remind myself 
of the beauty around me. 

A past love said that I did
not know the names of
flowers because I was
raised in New York City. 

Her words poisonous
arrows shot at my heart. 

I knew then what I now
know, that names can
be learned. 

Flowers, like everything else,
come with labels. 

But I am interested in
nature. Essence. 
Fragrance--

(as in all things birthed
by the sun). 

What do Tulips
add to a room?

How to safeguard
the medicinal property
of Dandelions and
Hibiscus? 

Will I carry my
mother’s perfume
when she is gone?

Can someone
see a lavender
field and not

believe in God? 




I Miss


The smell of sea on skin. 
The kiss of a rising sun.
Birds that serenade with songs. 
People who carry the earth’s energy,
and moons in their eyes. 
Trees that give life, heavy with
fruits that fall from the sky
like stars. All that is green and
nothing in-between. Life removed
from the city.

​

Elvis Alves is the author of Bitter Melon (2013), Ota Benga (2017), and I Am No Battlefield But A Forest Of Trees Growing (2018). He lives in New York City with his family. 

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