Alexander Ross is an American poet. His work has appeared previously with Antelope Hill, Apocalypse Confidential, Corncrake Magazine, and The Society for Classical Poets. He can be found on X @YeomanPoet
Possum Skull #3
The second, I kept
because it reminded me
of the first. And the first
I kept just because. Because
nothing unrepeated requires
a reason. Neither form, nor vessel,
nor void.
To be is to be, and to be,
alone. The fruit upon the tree.
A sword inside a stone. A spalted,
splintered, sunbleached something,
robbed of its own unmaking.
Possum Skull #4
The third, I built of words and verse,
but the fourth, in truth, was a raccoon.
Distant kin to one and two, perhaps,
but no cousin to the poem. For his novelty
is texture. The hairline crack across
the crest, the tooth that won’t stay put.
His arc is from field, to forest, to desk.
From wanderer to witness. To be,
he sees, is to become. As the tale
becomes the truth; every bandit,
the loot. Some alabaster paper
weight. A chalice of nerve or wine.
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