myself into love—
razor blade. Lately
I’ve been feeling free
to ruin my body.
Slim strip of beach—
there is nothing here, but me.
What is a sign?
The dim glow of a lighthouse—
through sea fog? Snow
falling on cracked sand dollars?
A crab’s empty torso— easy
by gulls? On the rocks,
by the roadside
a statue stands guard.
She is watching me. Men
have died here. She is saying— now
they are nameless. I sit
by her for awhile. The woman’s body
protected by a scarf of stone. I want
to be seen. I search for something
to leave with this woman— a small shell—
pounded sea glass – but there is nothing & so we part
ways without a glance. Her eyes without pupils.
heart of winter. Buzz & glow of signs promising
cold beer, fried dough, games— all grown cold.
The only light here: a dim glow from my cigarette.
Something about the absence of the moon—
as if it is telling me, You are nothing, little bird— nothing
more than skin.
Alexis Groulx’s work has been previously published, or is forthcoming in Blue Lyra Review, Bridge Eight, Civil Coping Mechanisms, Gravel, Off the Coast, Sun & Sandstone, The Missing Slate, and others. She is currently an MFA candidate at Vermont College of Fine Arts.