2025 Frontier OPEN Finalists Part Two: Ariana Yeatts-Lonske, Louie Alexander, Carleen Liu
In “To the man in my neighborhood who harassed me for ambulatory wheelchair use” Ariana Yeatts-Lonske earnestly challenges our understanding of what is “natural” by collapsing the boundaries between herself and the natural world. Simultaneously nature —high heat, rising rivers, hurricanes— serve to challenge the collective “neighbor” and their complicity in the world’s decay.
“Ruin is Not a Failure” recalls a Charles Buckowski quote: “I don’t pay attention to the world ending. It has ended for me many times and began again in the morning.” Louie Alexander captures the emotional journey one takes as they continue living after a tragedy. He transforms healing into something sacred and celebratory.
In [After] Teardrop with Calligraphy “Zero” by Mineo Mizuno, Carleen Liu invokes the image of the sky falling—only to wrap it around us like a blanket. The poem holds a tender, evolving portrait of the parent-child relationship. At times, the parent heals. At others, they are the ones needing care, asking us to stay just a moment longer before we go.
Across these three poems, we journey through the complexities of human connection—whether with hostile neighbors, our own wounded selves, or our mothers and caregivers. Each poet’s craft guides us across these emotional frontiers, illuminating what it means to be in relationship: to hurt, to heal, and to hold one another through the process.
To the man in my neighborhood who harassed me for ambulatory wheelchair use
by Ariana Yeatts-Lonske
is it possible you could tread water
for an hour
but not a full day?
If you carried a boulder on your back,
is it possible you could walk
for minutes
but not infinity?
In your philosophy,
the body is simple
as a light switch
off / on
never / always
But we are nothing electric.
Do you accuse primrose of deceiving you
during the closed bud of day?
Do you berate bears in their hibernation?
Does the flush and flutter of redbud leaves
feel to you like falsehood?
Wheelchair, shower chair, stool and cane—
I forage for my body every morning
in the forest of being alive.
Poison berry, ambiguous mushroom,
fainting pulse, numb nerves—
Some days,
one basket full.
Some days,
two.
I would gather something else
These days, I dream of travel without movement.
I dream of years without extinction.
Species hatching back to life.
Every morning I read the reports
and pray for mercy
for the wrens and ferns.
I read and pray for bodies like mine,
caught in high heat and hurricanes.
Neighbor,
when the rivers rise,
full of our fuel and fumes,
will you carry me to higher ground?
I can fill my pockets with seeds
and my legs with compassion.
You can bring your body that works
the same every day.
Sunset, sunrise, smoke and rain—
I hear one form of disaster preparedness
is knowing your neighbors.
I hear the best form of disaster preparedness
is being born in a different body.
Did I say body?
I meant time.
But here is the secret:
my sick body is closer
to the sick body of the earth.
Closer and hotter and shorter—
Yellow nail ridges like tree rings
Flash of skin like forest fire
Brain like fog like mist like distant cloud
Anaphylaxis like tsunami swell
tree after tree collapsed
And in the future—
How do I stay?
I search everywhere
but all I see is you, strolling
past my door.
What can I trust?
I read.
I pray.
I walk and wheel.
I greet my body of the day.
I lie down on the earth still here.
Ruin is Not a Failure
by Louie Alexander
Ash beneath the nails. Hollow in the root.
I wake with teeth pressed to skin,
dreaming again of extraction.
The silencefits too well.
Dried blood, forgotten on bandages.
The smell of iron in the light.
Letters from a war I don’t rememberfighting.
At night, the bathfills to the rim.
I leave the mirror clean.
I leave the light on.
Someone might come.
Someone might know the shape of stillness
and answer it.
I am not ruined.
Just quiet. Just rotted.
Just soft in the wrong places.
I am the slow, soft ache of a body
trying to grow around a wound that won’t close.
The bite is still there, curled beneath the ribs.
I will not name it.
I only carry.
It becomes,
A kind of worship,
I think.
afterTeardrop with Calligraphy “Zero”by Mineo Mizuno
by Carleen Liu
the tear
drop looms
over us 0 my mother
brought me to its base to
see it 0 with my own eyes 0 glazed
porcelain pointed then curved like cheek
bone 0 no face 0 no hands 0 sorting laundry
braiding hair 0 unlacing new sneakers we brought to the
psychiatric ward 0 these empty eyelets another daily loss 0
the car idling in the hospital parking lot 0 its breath visible
as though the air was cold 0 the saying goes 0 if the sky falls 0
take it as a blanket to wrap around yourselves 0 when i used to fall
playing outside 0 my mother anointed my bruises with white flower oil
her hands hastening healing 0 that was when i could hide no pain
from her 0 she said 0 i know baby 0 when i cried as she applied
pressure and over time 0 i’d watch that part of me turn from purple
to green to yellow to gone 0 as if nothing was ever there 0
now 0 there is no warmth 0 no water 0 no salt 0
my mother and i stare together 0 she is out of
breath 0 from beauty or old age 0 she looks
at me 0 wordless 0 even though she arrived
first 0 when i turn to leave 0 she
is not ready to depart
0
Ariana Yeatts-Lonske (she/her) is a disabled poet, meditator, and educator. Her writing has won an Academy of American Poets Prize and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. When she is not reading or writing, you can find Ariana making hyperspecific playlists for friends, photographing unusual patterns of light, and trying to identify the birds that call from the high trees in her neighborhood. She also moderates a support group for mast cell disease patients; she is interested in art as survival, survival as an art. Ariana lives in St. Louis with her partner Matthew and their rambunctious cat Dandelion.
Louie Alexander is a poet and photographer based on Dharawal land in Australia. His work explores themes of grief, body memory, and the mythic weight of survival. Through quiet surrealism and intimate language, he writes into the places where silence gathers. Louie is currently studying photography at Torrens University and developing a debut manuscript.
Carleen Liu is a poet and researcher from California, currently based in Bangkok. Her work has been selected for the Yale College Poets Reading at the Beinecke Library and featured in The New Journal.
