Our Room and Diamonds by Alex Twitchell

Categories: ISSUE 02: Billie

Our Room
Cotton against her skin

A moon in my window and on a book
Beside her head three fingers
Spilt rum a bruise on peach pillows


I hold my breath for bubbling tar and
Streaks on rippled glass wet
On broken slate

The patio is old but it was there in the beginning
Small hands small feet small shoes
Coats which stop fitting
No help and stools to cupboards


She doesn’t stir
No one does
Hair tangled sweat on brow on neck on shoulders
Wind and rain and oil and tar and shoes
Beneath the moon we wait
Willing serenity to be read as all facades are seen


The moon on book
Empty windows pressed to ink
Three fingers on bruised fruit and bruised organs
And bruised lips

I hold my breath for tar and oil


O Typekey Divider


It came from above like gemstone manna from stone to sack.

We ducked the stream, scooping up the diamonds like fallen birds,
singing as bells do when struck.
Gathered below us to the pools we grew by,
you said once water made you strong
if it didn’t kill you.
I walked the only path I knew to the bark pillars and the grass carpet
that was our house when games were work.
Our pool, our genesis, your tomb with a guard and a stone.
The fringe of each watery inch
shone and cried like breaking glass.
Their tinkling song much sadder than that music
played by their diamond betters.


Poems by Alex Twitchell
Background photo by Misti Rainwater-Lites
Foreground photo by Eleanor Leonne Bennettaffiliate link trace | nike mercurial superfly green size 7 shoes europe Magic Mushroom , Where To Buy , DH7650-600 , Ietp