Alexandra Mattraw

Walk with one eye closed. Follow pigeons gathering hunched fists. Bite dirt to know alone. Here is the subject : one green strawberry seed takes root in your upper lip. A dimple squares your bare knee. Sun slakes your eyes’ straining. A metal mouth sours to wash doubt out. Meadow grass without trees is true, and such threads will talk to you : One small muscle flexes your bare back. One thorn of a grocery red rose. Such talk shrinks to shift morning light. Spokes wheeling. Will this build it? Tooth sticky in your questions, coffee grounds list down the nakedness of one arm. Breath hums. What you can’t see is what brings you. Wipe a wineglass lunette and the red patterns left. Rend a pear with fingers fleshing out the pulped body to make two.








"Inside the Construction" is a prose block series that explores the rather finite ways our perceptions construct what we believe to be true in the world, however fictional those "truths" often are. This poem emerged while I was thinking about the beautiful absurdity that such belief systems tend to involve. My chapbook contains similar themes and forms.