Alexandra
by Gordon Earle
Poetry
Alexandra,
There wasn’t even a slit in the doorway,
you were an idea before I found you
looking for something in the gaps in the grass.
My absolute, articulate, physical horror,
this wondrous whispering heavenly diamond twisting treetops,
brown eyes backlit blonde melted glass parachute pressing back against me.
I saw beyond her lungs
a glimmering wind that burst from her eyes and smile,
wounded waterfall of glitter and glass.
Now I can only see her when I cross my eyes at Christmas lights,
or when I’m drunk enough to die.