The sickle moon clusters like gauze
in willows that flank roadways
a woman in a dark window gazes down on.
Dusk deepens to the steep blue of her eyes.
She hears her daughter downstairs
tell someone on the phone,
Let me paint you an indigo sky.
*
A townsman’s son in a far-off war
falls to a sniper’s round hearing children sing.
Someone’s missed the Metro home.
Said he’d spotted a Syracuse woman
who’d lied to him years back,
descending an escalator.
He will not be seen in town again.
*
Along Niagara River, a young woman
watches boats throw late shadows
against the harbor. She daydreams
herself into a mermaid gliding fugitive
out to sea. Look her way long enough
my friend, and she’ll wave to you, and the moon
will strike the water into sapphires.
JC Alfier’s (they/them) most recent book of poetry is The Shadow Field. Journal credit include Faultline, New York Quarterly, Notre Dame Review, Penn Review, River Styx, and Vassar Review. As a collage artist, their artistic directions are informed by Toshiko Okanoue, Francesca Woodman, and especially Katrien De Blauwer.
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