Weekend Getaway

by Emma Alexandrov

Just for an hour on the beach

I accord myself my right to hunger.

I amuse myself with pretending I am immortal.

Beside me my man's body dissolves into sand

from the inside out.

I imagine unfurling inside him

there is a conch-shell spiral

of sand replacing his organs

twirl by twirl. Soon he will blow

away. I look into his darling face,

which I can't even see.

Instead there is a zoetrope

where flicker the faces

of all the men I've loved

like nervous reflections on a tidal pool.

I imagine god is cross

with my hubris

and he changes the beach

into a bank of sand

at the bottom of a glass bottle

turned on its side.

I feel the sky sloping around me like tight walls

and my blankeyed man is all I have

to comfort me, half-buried in the sand looking

like a doll so cheap it's got a sticker

for a face. Thing always peels off

and it's always me

who's gotta stick it back on,

poor thing,

that doll.

* * * * *

Emma Alexandrov is keeping herself from dwelling too much on mortality by reading and writing poems, trying to figure out how to get computers to think, and editing Windows Facing Windows Review. She's currently rooted in Atlanta, GA, Portland, OR, and Poughkeepsie, NY.