first the twist of leaves,
tight as an icicle
Author: Alphabet Ravine
Lydia Rae Bush (she/her) is a poet rooted in lyric and dramatic traditions, currently exploring collaboration, intertextuality, and ekphrasis. Rae's work is Best of the Net nominated, examines embodiment and social-emotional development, and includes Free Bleeding (dogleech books, '25), Keeper, Seeker, Dragon of the Sea (Bottlecap Press, '25), and All the Little Church Girls' Paper Dolls (fifth wheel press, ‘26. Lydia is an associate editor for Sage Cigarettes Magazine, and can be found pretty much anywhere, generally wiggling.
you / lamb
(decision letter erasure after Bleating Thing)
Read More »haiku #10
haiku #10
Read More »Vigilant
The souls I wouldn’t try to fix,
the compliments I didn’t give,
and all the hearts who never asked
for mine to be so earnest—
Wind Sang
When the hawk lifted above the goats
grazing on the mountain,
into the mist-filtered,
sun-kissed sky,
Honor
You draw your knee closer to you in the sand,
tilt it, push it back
as the tide rushes out.
Flame Wheel
Grief drops, panic rises,
and I’ve got my deflection grin on.
How many topics would you
like these words to center?
Powder
(after “Sand”, written by Jordan Johnson, Taylor Cameron Upsahl, Michael Ross Pollack, Dove Olivia Cameron, and Stefan Johnson)
I’m like one big puzzle;
what’s up with all these lines and curves?
Fragments of myself always
sometimes when lydia wants to answer a question, she
When I was three, I wanted the colorful, fun-shaped
cereal with the kids’ commercial, but my mom said,
you won’t like that, and I said, I will, so she said, fine,
and she got it, but I didn’t like it.
Stimulate
I wonder at times if the ripples understand
you and I better than we
understand each other,
Alphabet Ravine 