ALISON STONE

★ ★ ★ ★

POETRY

Image by Annie Spratt

Kindred

We were children together
in the sun-stained space
where grass printed its secrets
on our kneeling knees.
Rusty swings’ rough rhythms
offered flight.
Chewed ends of ponytails,
our favorite shared striped shirt.
We used a magnifying glass
to bring dry leaves to flame.
Pinpricks and rubbed fingers
bound us sisters as we licked
last bits of mingled blood.

At night on our backs
we watched the stars
blink on. Everything the warm air
held was possible. We weren’t
bound by skin. We wished 
on airplanes that would
some day carry us. 
Only magic was real.

Behind walls in distant cities
we sweep floors and startle
at the sight of our slack skin.
Still, I feel you as I step out 
into spring, and who’s to say 
two broomstick-riding girls
don’t canter in a field
within the reaches of our dream?

Reminiscing with my Teen Best Friend

Two people never really share a past.
Always at some point the “we” breaks down,
though our memories feature the same cast.
She slept with T when I was out of town.

Always at some point the “we” breaks down.
She had a separate life apart from me,
slept with T when I was out of town.
L asked you out? I thought we hated B!

She had a separate life apart from me,
and I from her. Our secrets in plain sight.
L asked you out? I thought we hated B!
I went alone to M’s party that night.

I hid from her, my secrets in plain sight.
Though our memories feature the same cast,
I went alone to M’s party that night.
Two people never really share a past.

Cargo

Everywhere I go, I take my dead.
Mom would have loved Rome,
the masterpieces and churches.
Religions stacked on top of each other.

Mom would have loved Rome,
though Grandma was afraid to fly.
Religions stack platitudes on top of each other
but can’t replace her Yiddish curses.

Grandma was afraid to fly –
She’d make a terrible angel.
No place in heaven for Yiddish curses
and the music’s always the same.

Those I loved would make terrible angels –
Jay with his sea-blue eyes and prison tats,
the music he blasted always the same,
top down, cruising back roads.

Jay with his sea-blue eyes and prison tats
travels with my friends and relatives,
top down, cruising back roads.
A whole crew I won’t let go of.

I travel with friends and relatives 
past masterpieces and churches.
This whole crew I won’t let go of.
Everywhere I go, I take my dead.