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,
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.
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.
When You Leave
You will relax into the safety. Your biological rhythms will sort themselves out.
You will become so happy. You’ll gush with excitement
then begin to see how strange it sounds to be so grateful for peace.
Hearing your laugh, you’ll almost think you now take survival for granted.
Eye of the Hurricane
She throws me curveballs and crises like they’re tree limbs,
car parts, and siding that’s gotten ripped off.
She bats astonished eyes at me, says I never flinch.
I glance past her to all I’ve juggled before-
Lost keys, new jeeps, holes in walls, illegal rides,Read More »
she keeps throwing around the term abuse
It was, of course, after the pastor said
that emotional memory can make up details that seem to fit the feeling we felt,
and after you confided in me all about your power to cave-
how you are her sane and grace, while she’s stuck irrational,
but you understand- because I understand! I always understand.
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Counterproductivity (feat. in Amphora Magazine)
Only five times each day, I play like my bed frame
is a tweed lounge seat, my shelf is a welcome desk,
you are my friend by choice, and things are like they used to be-
You here to pay attention like you would have better things to do,
if it weren’t for the fact that I am your best.
Behind closed doors, I mime conversation with transparent friend,
all for imagined your strong, silent type observance.
This poem wasn’t supposed to be embarrassing, but I am
Read More »
Alphabet Ravine 