Where windowpane opens like jaw,
trees raise like stag antlers,
and wooden beams of exposed rib
curdle in milk-white flurries.
February in its naked desire for heat.
Along the curb a father holds his infant
to his breast and tucks her ears beneath
a wool hat. What is this strange feat?
Warmth at the cost of scratch.
At the cider mill, we order flights
and gorge ourselves on garlic and salt.
Tulsi bubbles raise in our throats
like an anthem, a soft crumbling.
Imagine a world where laundry gets done
on a regular basis, and enclosed in static-
lined sheets you find one sock and two
bodies curled together like plastered ash
in Pompeii forever fetal-bound.
Imagine a world where goldenrod
bursts open with babies,
people are born without fathers,
and lovers never let go.
Alix Wood was raised by two mothers on Anna Maria Island, Florida. At the University of Vermont, she was the editor-in-chief of Vantage Point, the school’s literary and art magazine. Her work has been published by SWWIM and Poached Hare. Alix’s poetry frequently centers around the body, bisexuality, trauma, family relationships, mental illness, and the natural world. She currently works at a tea house in Vermont.