Category Archives: Poetry

The Wound, against healing

Posted on January 14, 2014 by alicebarrett

Rupture breaks through the skin, Bleeds, leaves a gash, cools, Comes to rest. . On my back the cooled flow Creates a ridge, a gap. I watch the searing glow solidify, A map of its path across flesh. I scratch … Continue reading →

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Silence of the Snow

Posted on December 30, 2013 by alicebarrett

The silence of the snow crushes The silence when the freezer stops shocks The silence of that bird yearns The silence of those trees envelops The silence of our empty house crushes shocks yearns envelops The silence of your death … Continue reading →

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The Bridge in the Woodland

Posted on December 23, 2013 by alicebarrett

It came out of nowhere, that bridge, A rusted anomaly in trees that had devoured the fields before Metal bridges began. . Along we come, A rusty Bondo-ed auto that should be a memory, but Lives beyond its time. . … Continue reading →

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Sounds of the Sun

Posted on December 12, 2013 by alicebarrett

Trembling below hearing, we would notice only if it stopped. Startled, we would stop, naked of the sound we wear as skin. Throbbing like the heart of someone we love far away. Low mountains of sound vibrate against the snow. … Continue reading →

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Except

Posted on November 29, 2013 by alicebarrett

I’m a Christian, he wrote, except I’m an eye for an eye kind of guy. Yeah, I’m Leonardo DaVinci, I said, except I can’t draw. I’m Renee Fleming except I can’t sing. I’m a feminist except Poor women are ugly, … Continue reading →

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Today’s Grief

Posted on November 27, 2013 by alicebarrett

there’ll be no crying tonight the cat’s purring in his sleep dog’s running in his dream you murmur as you roll against me the cold rain on the roof sounds far away I’ll hold today’s grief safe until tomorrow

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Skeleton Verse not

Posted on November 26, 2013 by alicebarrett

Skeleton Verse skeleton bones rattle as they roam ’til they come back home. the last time I saw one he. she, or it shone in the sun he, she, or it was having fun, until he, she, or it shouted … Continue reading →

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Death Backed Away

Posted on November 24, 2013 by alicebarrett

Death came near. Death backed away. … She never leaves without a fare-well gift: Scars, fears, memories, A limp, a pain, a tremor. … She never leaves entirely, Like a dimness that never blackens: Whispers, shadows, shades. … She never … Continue reading →

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I’d like

Posted on November 22, 2013 by alicebarrett

I’d like a wind-up watch, they don’t need instructions. I’d like a key that isn’t a card, my Visa won’t open a door. I’d like a tan that comes from the sun, the liquid turns me orange. I’d like a … Continue reading →

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Gratitude in Three Stages of Life

Posted on November 20, 2013 by alicebarrett

Are you sure your friend knows that you like her? She helped you cheat on the history test, She distracted your mother as you went through her purse. Of all birthday gifts, hers was always the best. So take time, … Continue reading →

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