Alisa Otte
poetry
At birth I was consciously purple. My mother says
an angel pointed
and I turned pearly instead.
At twelve I spoke miracles, I was magic, I heard
What a wonderful world
and was ready to die.
At thirteen I dreamt of a wedding
draped in purple and white,
and initiated my yearning years.At nineteen Apparition underlined my
composition,
no spectacular sun, no angel to warn.In his eyes I saw…
upside-down and weeping,
What is crooked
cannot be straightened…
Antonym formed
and dissolved in one breath.At twenty he and I were
draped in my vision—
my angel named
our auras: sinister and naive.
He liked to withhold
songs from me.He held them in his
pockets.
What is lacking
cannot be counted…
Maybe it’s because
I don’t like the song
that’s stuck in my head that
now
only lilac can calm me.