Poetry: Song of Grief X by Alex Webster
Every poem in its way is an incantation of reanimation, and Alex Webster’s: “No gunshot. No head wound. / No sound, but the moon— / Raw and shy.” Webster’s newest poem, “Song of Grief X”, piles visually like feathers tumbling to the bottom of the page, that we too may for a time forget gravity and her dark cousin death.
Song of Grief X
I dream of you again.
A purple sea, a row boat.
You are seated at the bow.
I am seated behind you.
You face the sea and the sea
Is still. I do not know if we are
Moving. I am not
The boy, the bird
On watch, but I am meant to be
Here. To arrive, somewhere—
Traceable as stars. Where you were once
Possible. Now,
You are covered in dark
Feathers. Nearly
Reachable. I want
To pet you. I want your head
Cawing back. Show the moon
Those blackberry
Eyes. Hurry, before I remember
Gravity. I want you
Slowly turning around. There’s nothing here
But me. And I am smiling. I am so
Happy to see you again. In this violet
World. No gunshot. No head wound.
No sound, but the moon—
Raw and shy. For a moment,
I am sure of everything.
The sea, the boat. Then—
An oily feather
At my feet.
