Allegra Lisa
the weeds out of me
Excerpt
the door to my room fits crooked in its frame: a friendly painting about mental illness
river bounces
off rock. a fisherman
casts. a biker waits.
sunday makes a month. i miss
you. in the mornings,
my lungs whisper.
my philodendron’s leaves unfurl
in artificial red light. a friend is crying
alone in her bed. my brother needs
help. he doesn’t know he’s allowed
to live past eighteen. i want to tell him
i’ve felt it: i’ve wanted to lie
dormant in my own skin
and teeth. for now, i owe nothing
to tomorrow or the day after. for now, i steal
plants and postcards and forget.
river bounces
off rock. a fisherman
casts. a biker waits.
sunday makes a month. i miss
you. in the mornings,
my lungs whisper.
my philodendron’s leaves unfurl
in artificial red light. a friend is crying
alone in her bed. my brother needs
help. he doesn’t know he’s allowed
to live past eighteen. i want to tell him
i’ve felt it: i’ve wanted to lie
dormant in my own skin
and teeth. for now, i owe nothing
to tomorrow or the day after. for now, i steal
plants and postcards and forget.
About the Author
Allegra Lisa is a 23-year-old poet attending NYU Steinhardt for her masters in mental health wellness and counseling with an LGBTQ+ certificate. Their work can be found in the first issue of Ember Chasm Review, the 2019 issue of Yo-New York!, the anthology The Anatomy of Desire published in December of 2018 in The Poetry Annals, the first issue of What are Birds Journal, and the 2017 spring issue of The Stockholm Review of Literature. Her poems "my body is the kept piece of hail in our freezer-the one that hit you on the head and melted in your palm" and “on finding out both our mothers tried killing themselves” were nominated for pushcart prizes.
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