Alice, in the garden by Anne Marie Rooney

I've grown so tall even the Queen of Hearts curtsies. It was midnight so I dug another grave out back. It was midnight & the bells had not yet broke. The only sounds this room makes are high treble whines, lazy scratching up the storm. Give me a reason to be a woman. Give me a reason to wear blue & I will raise you hot pink. Today, the garden is raining. The light is nothing but grey. The light is grey & green & white, it is not raining, it is pouring. Nobody loves me like you, Mr. Sunshine. Sing me another, the one with the gold tooth. Today, my skin is so new it shines. Today will be the last day of needlessness. August Ninth marks two years since I said goodbye. Under the city night, I kissed your wet cheeks red. Here, the breeze, something about this must ring. Look at my lips, take the sticker off, you lick me as any. Slow, an appropriate betrayal. Under the city night, I opened like an old deck. Ready steady Jack, I wore black & silver & red, I smiled often & kept my mouth shut. Treat me to it, explicate the space between New York stars & orange smog dusk. It was like that, then: plump, unwilling to deflate. My orgasm offended even me.

About the author:
Anne Marie Rooney recently earned her B.A. in Creative Writing from Carnegie Mellon University. Her poetry has appeared in Parthenon West Review, Pebble Lake Review, Night Train, and elsewhere.