Years & Years Later I Am Still Not That Girl, Laughing by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Years & Years Later I Am Still Not That Girl, Laughing

Monday.
All that green-eyed sorrow
spilling out like a landslide.

Tuesday.
Inside our last time:

You looked my way.
I took off my shirt.
Pressed my tits against the glass.

Wednesday.
The snow ghosts schuss
in my dreams,

a dirge.

Thursday.
The phone rings.
The waitresses add up.

I sit on the counter, skirt hiked high,
like one of those girls who even now
keeps calling and calling.

Friday.
Too many people loved you.

Saturday.
I spend it not mourning you.

The way you avalanched
downhill into oblivion.

Oblivious.

Sunday.
“I don’t know how you get up in the morning,”
you said to me after you died.

For Susan Hayden

by Alexis Rhone Fancher, first published in Askew.

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Editor’s Note: The fractured stanzas of this poem reflect a fractured relationship. The narrator doesn’t need to tell us exactly who “you” is because the imagery feels universal.

From the archives – Tonight We Will Bloom for One Night Only by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Tonight We Will Bloom for One Night Only

Tonight you must plow me a respite between the moonflowers,
mock orange, night phlox, and Epiphyllum Oxypetalum.
You must open me to the summer night like cereus.

You must pick my perversions like petals, allow them for one night
to bloom, frangipani wafting, a concupiscent wind humming at my door.

I’ve surrendered to your heady sweat of primrose, plumeria,
addicted to your outstretched arms of night-blooming jasmine,
my heliotrope buds hard and wanting, reeking of Madagascar vanilla with its
accompanying moral ambiguity.

I am more than a day lily.

We are each bodies, hard-wired for pleasure, destined for momentary blooming,
then extinction.

When the bats swarm and the moths sidle up to this one night of fevered
pollination, let’s be ready.

Let’s face them, our appetency the headlights they slam into again and again.

We will make our escape at first light. Singing.

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, July 8, 2015 — by Alexis Rhone Fancher

photo by Christine Klocek-Lim

this small rain by Alexis Rhone Fancher

this small rain

this small rain sambas on San Vicente
wanders through Whittier
mambos past Montebello
and East LA

this small rain moves like a Latina
over-plucks her eyebrows
drinks Tequila shooters
fronts a girl-band

this small rain works two jobs
dawdles in down pours
this small rain seeds clouds

this small rain drives to Vegas in a tormenta
has a friend in Jesus
needs boots and a winter coat

in this drought-wracked city,
this small rain dreams of flash floods,
depósitos, indigo lakes,
cisterns, high water,
Big Gulps, endless refills

in this drought-wracked city,
this small rain settles on the hierba seca
sleeps under freeways
plays the lotto
is unlucky in love

this small rain longs to hose down the highways
this small rain chases storms

this small rain has a tsunami in her heart

this small rain kamikaze’s
in the gutter
suicides on summer sidewalks
dreams of a deluge
that overflows the river banks
washes L.A. clean

in this drought-wracked city,
this small rain scans the heavens,
looking for a monsoon,
searching for su salvador in the
reclaimed desert sky.

by Alexis Rhone Fancher, finalist, Kind of A Hurricane Press, Editor’s Choice Contest, 2014.

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Editor’s Note: Sometimes poems speak of our lives as they exist right now. This poem uses personification to make a statement about drought and people, creating a relationship between need, resources, survival, and dreams.

Tonight We Will Bloom for One Night Only by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Tonight We Will Bloom for One Night Only

Tonight you must plow me a respite between the moonflowers,
mock orange, night phlox, and Epiphyllum Oxypetalum.
You must open me to the summer night like cereus.

You must pick my perversions like petals, allow them for one night
to bloom, frangipani wafting, a concupiscent wind humming at my door.

I’ve surrendered to your heady sweat of primrose, plumeria,
addicted to your outstretched arms of night-blooming jasmine,
my heliotrope buds hard and wanting, reeking of Madagascar vanilla with its
accompanying moral ambiguity.

I am more than a day lily.

We are each bodies, hard-wired for pleasure, destined for momentary blooming,
then extinction.

When the bats swarm and the moths sidle up to this one night of fevered
pollination, let’s be ready.

Let’s face them, our appetency the headlights they slam into again and again.

We will make our escape at first light. Singing.

by Alexis Rhone Fancher

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Editor’s Note: Flowers as metaphor for pleasure… yes. And it is the single line in the middle of the poem where meaning pivots and gives the words energy. That line is why I kept reading —because that is where the meaning broke free of the image and became personal.