A short poem about a grandkid wondering why grandpa is bald.
Author: alexis
A Portal on High Street
Ever since I was eight, I’ve been able to create portals to another dimension. Cool, right?
No, actually. Get your head out of your ass.
That’s That
A short poem about superstition.
The Elephant Handbag: 1
There are a lot of tragic stories. Another where some obscure white girl doesn’t get her way is hardly worth anyone’s pity. And that’s not what I’m here to tell you about, anyways. I’m here to tell you about my mother’s handbag.
And how that handbag, with its rough stitching and cultural-appropriating rainbow-coloured elephant print kept me alive on the night I was attacked.
The night that stranger took everything from me: mind, soul, and body.
Beneath the Waves
A ship to sail
upon the sea,
with wind, be caught
and follow thee…
Dig
If idyllic plots areplots of land andhouses built onsinking sand arenot as good aswalls of stoneand timber fallsbut castles stand(except for thosewhose walls are sand)then I might sleepquite sweet tonightwhere down six feetI’ll dig my site
Update
An update on our lives (and why it’s been so long since I last posted).
Wilt
Wilt, oh petal,
breathe no more
of sun and sky
and cease your chore
to branch and leaf
in cloudless sky,
to mark a stone
in black to cry.
Song of the Storm
Storm of winter
clouds of night,
break o’er the crashing
waves of fright
and bring the cleansing
rains of tide
to waken us
in sleeping, hide.
Armour
You’re my armour:
beat thine breast,
where all cold steel
at mine behest
might sing in echo,
violence swayed,