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.

Smog

Alphabet RavineLeave a comment

Lock your irises up and to the right,
summoning mine. Let your side stand square,
your hips too scared. Stare these pupils,
sheltered by my arched brows, down. I can barely see
you through your eyes’ fear. But I know better than
to call such your name, bold challenger, chasing the guards
from the gate of your soul, welcoming my power to
assume your worth, envisioning yourself to be embracing my heart-
my heart you shrouded, mistook for my mere humanity.

Magnet

Alphabet Ravine2 Comments

You’re drawn towards me like we’re perfectly opposed…
like one of us put ourselves into the wrong box,
because heaven knows I don’t want to be shocked by your sparking outlet.

I just want to run, but I stay, every time. Like I’m…
electrocuted- Stuck. Like I’m numb- stuck.

Seems safer to turn the power off when men hang on me. Three at one time.
They each try to caress my neck at once,Read More »

Siempre

Alphabet Ravine2 Comments

The sands of time are falling,
and the weaver, she is calling
to this quilt she’s sewn sublime,
and I’m trying to step in time.

The hands of time keep ticking,
and I’m finding myself wishing
that I could just slow it down,
or at least keep you around.

I will hold the hands of time
if you will hold mine,Read More »