Alison Harville






Waxwing Crescent


The night is broken again,
broken wing
little brown bird,
brooding over the dark
with your sharp beak
turned to the side.

This nest of sticks and stones,
this blanket of feathers...
We make and break
our promises here,
where love is sweat
and pain the residue
of salt left behind.

The stars fade and fall,
the moon mopes along.
I lay awake in the heat,
counting faults like sheep,
counting regrets like faults.
The night isn't long enough,
cracked like shells...
and I always go to bed alone.
 

 


Oceana Dances and Passes Out on the Floor


I am the smooth
curve of shell,
lost on a beach.

When I cry out,
the gulls rise
screeching
in the blind sun.

The waves push
against me,
like so many rocks.

I offer myself.

The waves fall
into me...

I offer myself,

milky white cup,
opal sheen,
salt clung.

I can never be empty enough.





Copyright © Alison Harville 2013

 
Alison Harville has previously been published in The Café Review, Under the Legislature of Stars and Poets' Guide to New Hampshire, as well as appearing on the spoken word and music CD Beat Nights at the Electric Cave. She lives in New Hampshire.