eating persimmons meant for crows/is the combination of uppers and downers/the weight of
branches can withstand against the snap of me. for they have their own

bellies and tire of doubling as benches for feathers heavy/with nevermore. thick-billed raven of the
motherland/a home for diasporic longing

performed painfully in grass skirts and face masks grafted onto roman busts of women/whose lips
leak violence of

why sex can never settle bets. i bit into your flesh so like an apple/so like shiny wet sheen sin
swelling in my mouth/scoffing at the numbness that means

the end of you.

*

Alison Reed’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals including Skin to Skin, Cactus Heart, Femme Dreamboat, and So to Speak, and she was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is pursuing her PhD in English at the University of California, Santa Barbara, where she is taking a brief respite from the city life she longs for.