ALEXIS POPE
famous landmarks we bled onto
my scarf smells a little like you / a little like a cigarette
what distance rises out from my palm pour one more glass of wine
is rioja girl talk you ask me & i smile thinking about your hip bone
in my open mouth (i'm no good at poems when i'm in love)
red bridge in front of us i stir the demons from your skin
with my tongue explain where my scars were born
one more rising moon some smoke exhaled i walk into
everything breathing like i do in times of sickness
i require sickness some blending of rum
in orange juice i don't know i don't know
to be good or alone to be naked & confident it's all my fire
my wet tights spill your drink on me again i'm only asking
for release a tight pair of jeans to keep my knees shut
some unworkable attempt at caring about another person
miles i don't feel like walking when it's so much easier to dive
& swim at least that might feel earned clench & clink some ice
in a glass or the street or ask you to wait
to fall asleep inside what i mean is to be a body
for you to enter a season change
like winter to spring something like that
toast that i can't quite remove
from the toaster burning my fingertips
memories static last night your bed orange & needy
could you taste the wine in me
each morning i pray for death
of responsibility these actions stick their cycle
middle of the bridge we did not walk across
my almost body outside of you
where i lick you in your entirety i'm sorry
i'm too in love to write a poem
why didn't they teach us this in school
it's ok we wouldn't have paid attention
My Gorge Rises At It
What I remember of my hair
in your face Your body against mine
I always thought my closet would open
onto some beauty covered in snow
I keep telling you to touch my feet To tell me how wet
I am Face shapes into other My body
means a bit more nothing Always
trying to be beautiful
& unsuccessful & trying Always failing
at being my best self whatever that means
I carried you home in my clothes That first time
Putting my shirt up to my face I want to sleep inside
this coffin with you Scar of my belly waiting
for you to wake me More sleep than from morphine
Bring me back to there Things I need you to tell me
but I'm afraid To touch what I want
Transcribe my honesty as bitterness I'm all deceit
& envy Deceit & envy Convinced my feel is want
To feel & left spinning To be on your floor & not
quite remember Wanting to tell you
what my breasts used to look like What that scar is from
How your heart I can see it I swear I can see it but
Realistically what this means is nothing
More bone for this sacrifice of myself
against your tongue Please
I thought I owned enough black
My back forming
to this carpet
This curve of me
I want you to feel
Over here in the mud I am back here &
drowning Watching some other story unfold
Into a play someone else wrote
& I am still so very far away
Sunday in a Different Bed
I am going to send you flowers stolen
from a nearby grave I am going to brew
more coffee for both of us Although we wake
in faraway states Fell asleep next to a glow
mechanical in nature This morning I stare out
the window blocked with blinds
New York to go home to you
I would be better off Inside your closed
curtains The snow on Washington Avenue
slushed with ash Sidewalk walked while staring
down Double knotted with memory
Tell me something romantic & then
retract Apologize again without
meaning a goddamn word I never
mean a goddamn word I'm sorry
Still mountains somewhere A painting on my wall
Books on top of books piled
on top of me Some morning without
you here Every morning More coffee
Scaffolding More coffee scaffolding
some ache I buried too deep to touch
Some distance to walk today This morning
in circles Straight lines to where you sleep
A piece of toast buttered & I cannot talk
about the things I want Building & bridge
in the sky I see from my place right here
Nowhere near you Tell me you're proud
All I've done Maintained some small semblance
of self I've grown fond of crying while watching
my face in a mirror Snowshowered & tongue-tied Sleep-
walk in doubt What does it take to bring you next to me
Alexis Pope lives & writes in New York. Forthcoming from Coconut Books in 2014, her first manuscript was selected for the Joanna Cargill First Book Prize. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Washington Square, Guernica, Octopus, Forklift, OH, and RHINO, among others. She is the author of three chapbooks, most recently BONE MATTER (The Lettered Streets Press, 2014), & is an MFA Poetry candidate at Brooklyn College.