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About this poet

Lindsey D. Alexander is the author of the poetry collection, Impostor from the Future, forthcoming from Hub City Press in 2018. Her poetry has appeared in the Southern ReviewWaxwingArts & Letters, and Devil’s Lake, where her work won a 2015 Driftless Prize. She produces Story of My Life, a podcast that features guests over the age of seventy. She lives in Oak Ridge, Tennessee.

Reflection on First Season of a Marriage

Never get a husband. They never will make cheese plates without a fuss. Get a dog
with thumbs.	

Sometimes when my husband does the dishes, I rampage. I rampage when
                                     for some reason 
                                     the glasses look
dirtier than before a washing or I remember 
                 a loneliness. I shape that loneliness into a broom. I use 
                 it to sweep 
         away happiness,
a state that quite often can lead to complacency, and also to fly off
the broom’s handle inside me. 

We maybe all are holograms, 
a reputable scientific journal proclaims, and I tell the husband so after dinner. 

But why does this particular projection have small consciousness 
                                      that wishes
to sit in a straight-backed chair and recall reciting “Friends, Romans, countrymen” in high school 
      and this
                 little hologram goes to market and this little hologram hits zero
              stoplights all the way home?

Also, as a projection, I wonder at my own need

to touch. Is light drawn 
to light? Desire light?

Why should this little light become inconsolable over the silliest—

                   Oh, why is there so much of me
                              in me?
  				       Maybe this is easy

	                science: Each hologram an imagining light thought to construct, 
           in which one furry projection drinks from the toilet, one projection sprouts leaves
that fall annually and never improves 
                                      at leaf-retention, and my husband—
 
an invisible who may not exist in the kitchen behind me
if it weren’t for his singing. 

Copyright © 2015 Lindsey D. Alexander. This poem originally appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Spring/Summer 2014. Used with permission of the author. 

Copyright © 2015 Lindsey D. Alexander. This poem originally appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Spring/Summer 2014. Used with permission of the author. 

Lindsay D. Alexander

Lindsey D. Alexander

Lindsey D. Alexander is the author of the poetry collection, Impostor from the Future, forthcoming from Hub City Press in 2018.

by this poet

poem
                                  But then there’s the beauty of the rodeo:

		the buck and nod, 
				                      that arch and stretch
			        against gravity.

	
		    A bronco’s no square peg,
and neither am I.

		Pegs or no, we both flex
  			our more resistant muscles—			

			strong-legged,
poem
Dog that won’t stop barking and all I can think:
I don’t know anything about stars—		

not what they’re called or how they form, but how

we turn stars into stickers to surprise
our children and assure them You are better
than normal children. 				

On boat decks, sailors cry out Orion
poem

I was an observer: my own student
and my best teacher
in the forest working the lyrics together.
There were bees in his beard,
in a good way.

She cupped his chin: this
was platonic and also the source
of some honey. He fed her
two lines he had kept inside his soul
for