Alexis-Rueal is a 35 year old poet living in Columbus, Ohio. She is active in the poetry slam scene, and has been published in "All Things Girl," "Rose and Thorn," and "Vagina :: The Zine" online journals as well as "Vending Machine: Poetry for Change," and "Buzzkill: An End of the World Anthology," print journals. She placed second at the 2012 Columbus Arts Festival jury competition and her first chapbook, "Letter to 20," will be published in early 2013 by The Poets Haven Press.
Fall 2012
Table of Contents - Vol. VIII, No. 3
Poetry Fiction Translations Reviews
Alexis-Rueal
A Sidewalk in Need of a Day Off
Just too tired today.
The scale calls me like an early morning lover, © Alexis-Rueal
Too much hard shoe banging,
drenched in too many spilled drinks and spit,
littered with too much indifference.
The only time they think of me is
when their mothers complain of back pain.
Don't they know I earned these
cracks on the underside of their soles?
Pound me enough, and there will be no
stepping around the karma.
Today, I just want children and chalk,
crooked square paths and pebbles
the size of their childhoods.
Slow churning afternoons
of little feet learning to balance
the beginnings of life.
I can handle that.
Drowse under the lullaby
of hand clap songs and
ice cream truck jingles
that ring until porch lights
play taps.
Then maybe I'll be ready again
to greet the dawn.
Just let me rest today--
in a far off place away from
the footfalls of adulthood.
ready to wrap my form in numbers.
I stand before it, naked--
it waits to whisper my worth.
Ready to wrap my form in numbers,
the scale and I have grown close as
it waits to whisper my worth.
This, my daily soothsayer,
this scale and I have grown close.
I have no secrets with
this, my daily non-soothing soothsayer.
It weighs my self-esteem against
the secrets I want but cannot have--
the food I want to deny but can't.
My self-esteem, outweighed by
the fat on my thighs.
I want to deny food, but I can't.
Eating is an evil affair, and
the fat on my thighs confirmed accusations
silently blaring from my scale.
Eating is an evil affair, and
I am tired of playing the game.
Undo these fatty confirmations,
become worthy of my scale's love.
I am tired of playing the game, but
I stand before it, naked.
I have to become worthy of my scale's love.
The scale calls me like an early morning lover
telling me he has come back home.
