Grabbing my toes,
I pull my butt out from beneath me,
flip me upside down,
and shake.
I plop her back on her butt and smack
her back and wait
and wait and wait
for her to burp, spit or vomit,
or to drop from any pocket
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.
I, female, lie in bed
I, female, lie in bed
dressed in Clark’s flannel shirt.
It is soft, encompassing, swallowing, immersing-
Like love,
but less human, less active, less person.
It smells like active, human person, though.
I deeply inhale his lingering traces,
trying to fill my shell with as much humanity as I can.
I cradle halves of soft fabric across my torso,
trying to touch as much person as possible,
to be swallowed, encompassed, immersed in,
and buried by something soft.
Kendra pokes her head in the door.
The rest of her follows.
She hovers above me, calls me, hugs me,
drops, puts her head on my bed, and cries-
She is too strong to ignore the pain, but too weak to fix it.
I welcome her into my bed.Read More »
identity
not quite a train wreck
but a train that keeps starting and stopping
going the wrong way on the track
and isn’t it sad?
trying not to have an adjective
the hoe and the manwhore
My lies loved yours.
Our scars and alter egos danced,
and your ghost rolled over, straddling mine.
I found a shield in a linguistic sword;Read More »
What a Poem Means
A world demanding meaning alternates between cynicism and starry eyes.
See, all a detail must do
is matter to be written down.
And all a detail must do to matter
is to occur,
Mr. Above It All
You primal man!
You human being!
With twitching groin and heated breathing
misting as a waterfall out onto heaving neck.
One of millions staying home,
desiring food and craving sex.
The Spot
two hands
to hold or to have
with the trees as our witness,
ask,
for the sparrows that record our song
Read More »
The Captain
He’s thin as a rail with this equally thin
yet deceptively puffy, oversized jacket-
navy, that
he never removes.
He’s also got a farmer’s hat
with secret script written round the rim.
He never removes this,
save for in prayer.
He claims that he’s an alien.
Firsts, Lovers, and Loves
I gave you compliments like flowers,
poured my attention on you like frankincense and myrrh,
stayed in your eyes like they were worth more than your crimes and awkwardness combined-
I chose you, and I made you mine.
So though I never loved you, I loved you first.Read More »
The Tree
There’s a tree which grows on the side of the road.
It stands not alone, nor hidden at the heart of an enchantied woodland.
Ordinary and unassuming, it meekly joins the scattered foliage dotting the local park.
Pass this plant on your trek to work, and notice how you don’t notice it at all.
Listen as it asks no attention of you. Feel the stagnant air as the modest tree
makes no attempt to draw you in. Its aura keeps to itself, taking only the space that its bark requires.
Pass the tree again, however, as you head back home to the warmth of blankets,
the delight and safety of lying down. Pass the tree when the night has fallen, when the sun itself has fallen too.
Alphabet Ravine 