I asked for you and now you are here.
There's enough, a rumble of thunder snow,
along with the burnt toast smell of steam.
The spare room is untidy, like my disbelief.
A trellis, a welter of wrens, hard-shelled beasts
scrambling for succor, whatever can cling.
It isn't perfect here. Pinned by an internal map,
wings flit darkly, stray again, plummet blue.
I'll leave the walls without a tin roof,
let the curious snow infringe a darkening sill.
Carol Alexander's poetry appears in various anthologies and journals including Bluestem, Caesura, Canary, CHEST Journal, Chiron Review, The Common, Gravel, The High Window, Matter, One, Poetrybay, San Pedro River Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, Split Rock Review, The New Verse News, and Soundings East, and forthcoming in Home Planet News Online, Southern Humanities Review, J Journal, Third Wednesday and The Main Street Rag. She is the author of the chapbook Bridal Veil Falls (Flutter Press, 2013) and the poetry collection Habitat Lost (Cave Moon Press, 2017).