Alice Letowt
​

Diorama (girlhood)
 
like      like                  how
 
we        wanted to be snow       scuffed horses
                               looking                  at morning  





Diorama (boyhood)
 
The sky is a pumpkin rotting on the front porch
like how the graveyard was covered in snow,
soft layers, gooey and fanned
into the side of the mountain below
the moon next to thawing dawn. Seeing my breath,
an afterimage of a lifetime, in headlights looking
for wild horses. 




Alice Letowt is writing on the eastern edge of the Mojave. She misses Tulip Poplars. 




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