Poetry by Lisa Alletson

             ​Jason Trbovich CC



​
dis/order

My daughter with the heart of March 
with the brain of an undiscovered galaxy
My child of deep forests and quiet pines
who dances to the sound of the sun

My daughter with her friends–
of unfinished paintings
of abandoned paintings
She who knows private clinics and silence

My child of half-light––
who does not know gray
My girl with the memory of a steamer trunk
full of old photographs

My daughter with the hair of unbrushed wisteria
in her world of thrum and ashes
She, of pre-scheduled gentle hugs
My child who smiles in every language​






in/difference

I am aslant
Apples and sky
drift through my eyes

Your world is hidden
in secret tents
the wrong shape for me

I don’t understand
the size of your laugh
the weight of your joke

But if you blow on me
as a feather
a wish

I will float away
I promise

​

Lisa Alletson grew up in South Africa and the UK, and now lives in Canada. She has writing forthcoming or published in Eunoia Review, New Ohio Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Sledgehammer Lit, Lumiere Review, South Shore Review, Trouvaille Review, among others. You can find her on Twitter at @LotusTongue.

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