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

Thunder
Silence

I hold my breath for bubbling tar and
Oil
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

Silence
Thunder

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

Thunder
Silence
Light
Again

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

 

Diamonds
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
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Background photo by Misti Rainwater-Lites
Foreground photo by Eleanor Leonne Bennett