He asked me to write him a poem.
He asked me to
reach out for rhyme and for rhythm. He asked me
to think, feel, and breathe, to be human. He said to
grab meter and put it in
structure and thrust it near
thought bubbles. He said to go
dabble with words and ideas and irony,
Author: Alphabet Ravine
Lydia Rae Bush (she/her) is a poet exploring themes of embodiment and social-emotional development. Her work is Best of the Net nominated and can be found in publications such as Corporeal, Querencia Press, and Bleating Thing. Her chapbook Free Bleeding is out now with dogleech books.
the girl in the dream
Pride in the girl in the dream who walked away,
screamed, It’s not worth it.
She screamed,
It’s never worth it.
I don’t know how she’d get away, if
she were trapped on every side,
Lowly
If it is my lot in life to be a worm of the earth,
then when they chip away
each piece of me,
Man-eater
Attention, attraction,
affection, attachment,
with trust in you too large to trust
myself so little,
Honest Cover Letter (American Sonnet)
Well, I am good for many things. At times,
when I’m bumped into I relax up to
the edges of my bubble, so the next
time that soul needs some human touch to ground
on again off again first
isn’t there something comforting
about everything we ever wanted,
unsure if the high was betrayed or best conveyed
by the crash—
Shrapnel
When you say you did a thing,
and you’re scared you did the wrong thing,
or did the right one wrong,
Measuring Cup
Left, right, fingers and toes,
climbing up through kitchen drawer
handles— just the daily grind
when you’re only four—
helping bake by eating the quarter
cup of flour given to you, helping
yourself to the dish of butter,
sticky-fingered, when they turn their
Redpoint
He asked me where I was planning to go
to accomplish the climbing route.
He beamed, called me sweetly simple.
I’d snapped at him, “Up.”
Saved Reel
The baby lemur’s back already
lies against his elder’s stomach,
but he gives a light tug
at their sensitive face,
Alphabet Ravine 