“The universe is made of stories
not of atoms”
My first language is body, he says,
the dull bulb of moon, a flickering pulse:
enter the garden of fools.
Postcard from nowhere reminds:
slippery lips loose lies,
besides that, then what?
Her mouth, a neon sign flashing:
OPEN 24 HOURS
You have no poetry, she says.
Molecules refuse to compose the alphabet,
don’t forget, this is language specific text;
regret is its own art.
Waiting for an offering, his palms open.
Like sand, air filters between his fingers,
Blame it on the bossa nova, he says.
You’ve ripped my heart out, she says
like an oyster’s pearl; her silhouette
dancing toward the gimlet-eyed dawn.
Alyssa Yankwitt received an MFA from The City College of New York, where she also teaches. Her poems have appeared in Poetry In Performance and on Eightmillionstories.com and are forthcoming in Curio Poetry. Alyssa has an incurable case of wanderlust, loves drinking whiskey, and hates writing about herself in the third person.
Read more of Ms Yankwitt’s poetry in our downloadable digital edition.