Run Away, Innocent
Posted by Alysia Harris | Filed under Poetry, Print
a woman left her husband-
in transit like a lost suitcase
full of wear, man handled and unclaimed.
the afternoon was peopled with underaged clouds
who grew up to be fire engines, dragons and, The Scream.
a freighter on the horizon inched its way obsolete,
a kite fleeing tail between legs.
everything was leaving everything else and was doing
it with a vengence.
she did it while he wasnt looking.
thrust hands into shallow pockets, found familiar
while her toes deserted.
and she was going.
had no place in mind but one of her own.
thinking,
she was a glass bottle love letter meant for anyone,
a kite divorced with no children,
an ascetic freighter growing wise in steam.
a woman left her husband and everything she owned…
only for a couple minutes
walked against the shore
while he ate a hot dog.
harmless as a beach scene. innocent as sand castles.
she prays that next time,
between catch up and relish
she will have the foresight to drown.
STILL
Posted by Alysia Harris | Filed under Poetry, Print
Tell me feet first.
Airport peeled and travel streaked
sand in my teeth, tasting like where you’ve been
absent. Nuzzling your calf with my toes when we cuddle
and guess:
Were you 30 men meatpacked in an open air van?
Were you a hair pin in a hijab,
you chain with threads; wink in the wind?
Were you a dead stray, belly
bloated, face up praying the elements take it
slow? Were you the sole of Old City?
Were you where you belong but as out of place as a
pink conch in a desert. Not all sands
the same.
Bedouin ears pressed to your
voicebox demanding miracles,
far from sure. But I keep it up.
I know there are no maps
where you came from
distance still
judged in hand/ hectares, height still measured in God
Were you a slave’s intestines twisting into oxbows when he thinks
“home”? Were you ever in a mosque built like a cathedral?
Were you my tears carried on
the backs of ants made of mascara,
the apple core trail they leave behind,
or a reel of film leading to someone old’s grave?
You were never a pair of broken necked tourists
but once, once you were a dirty look coming clean in my eyes.
Yeah, a few times you were Quasimodo, and I Esmeralda, arab
as she was, surprised and unable to cover
my face quick enough.
We were face to face and even then,
were you ever close enough to be mine?
Were you ever innocent?
Were you ever Lord of the flies?
Tell me were you ever magpies
singing or a kilt mockingbird?
Where you were, were you sick of island hopping inside
yourself, chatting with beach balls, drawing
escape plans from paradise?
Were you a
table dancer balancing between
the stars and a corona
or just a boy
pockets full of rocks?
Were you at peace or just at the edge?
Were you ever anything more than a full house
of chance and a bluff quivering on the tongue,
Were you ever shaken like that?
Are you still now?
21
Posted by Alysia Harris | Filed under Poetry, Print
- I am as fragile as a poached egg.
- I know how to break. I do not know how to stop.
- My vagina is a glass jar. If I let you smash, all the lightening bugs would escape.
- I am the rainbow bright dragon sleeping in the lions den.
- I do not hoard gold. I do not eat men. I have met Daniel. My dreams are not my own.
- I am vain. My actions are not.
- I am horrible at remembering names. It’s my worst quality. Makes me feel like a bitch.
- I hope these cracked lips is not herpes but just the heat of our exchange.
- He and I broke up because we saw God differently. We ended because he did not see me for who I really am.
- I’ll text you.
- The sun and me, we are tight.
- I can’t drive but I know the loyalty of a backseat and I would follow you anywhere
- I learned how to smell like sex.
- I guard my hands not my heart.
- But this pen makes me a slut.
- I did not skip 15 but that year was a mess.
- I forgive like two front teeth biting into an apple
- I think I was most beautiful when I was at his mercy
- I am uglier now.
- Despite its predictability, I am infatuated with the epic.
- I cry when I kill spiders… I am still learning to love.
Untitled
Posted by Alysia Harris | Filed under Poetry, Print
ain’t
tasted
you or me
in a good while.
are we still salty
at the edge of our words?
no. eventually we all
forget what made us so gallant.
we stick to what we know, clichés like
kissing in the rain. shitting in the sunshine.
cran-
berry
juice and Sky.
buzzed off a blood
red sunset in a solo
cup. i fly that way solo
ego and liquid fire fuel
flushed, i am beautifully human
flesh on fire. don’t tell me how to burn.
i
burn like
a paper
airplane and light-
er in a bathroom
stall-ing age and pissing
away a dream. i can smoke
till the nicotine sings like Nat
King Cole way before my time. i don’t
know what he’s saying…just like how it sounds.
right
at noon,
speak easy
sounds like me. mute.
the liquor loses
its bite. glittering a
lone and stiff necked each bottle
crowded and cold shouldered. me in
between who i am, romance and sex
less love, the kind that’s already a sin.
for
fuck sake
don’t let me
drink tonight. i’ll
say something i might
mean. and it will sound like
nothing. i mean nothing, in
the quietest way possible.
(i wrote who i love down on my skin…
why keep writing when you’ll never read this?)
