Alyx Chandler
Does survival stay relevant
or soften like a petal
wet on your fingertip?
I ring and ring, warbled.
Hermitess, my prayers
are like foxglove,
patient
as a halo
lit in a dark field,
warm as a grove of
rosettes, speckle-throated cries caught in a nest.
I’m out here
where women
have wandered
to be alone,
where bites break bodies
lost
like mine—
won’t you mark these mountain sides toxic?
Come nightfall,
let me play
with all my poison
common sense
then leave
like you:
rife
in personal expense.
***
Alyx Chandler is a writer from the South who received her MFA in poetry at the University of Montana, where she taught composition and poetry. She is a publicist for Poetry Northwest, a reader for Electric Literature and former poetry editor for CutBank. Her poetry can be found or is forthcoming in Cordella Magazine, Greensboro Review, SWWIM, Anatolios Magazine and elsewhere. Read more at alyxchandler.com.