Daredevils

By Emily Alexander

About some things I am certain:
skydiving for instance and my utter
disinterest. We sit together
in the hot tub; steam confuses
the dark surrounding forest,
and I tell you this and how I once leaned
far enough in my chair to fall
for lightyears. I fell
until the cows came home,
my mortification longer still
while those tipsy animals grazed
smugly in the yard. Here
on the outskirts of town, we can see
the single factory with its lasso
of smoke. I bend my neck to check
out the stars untarnished
across the great briny sky,
they remind me of the porous boredom
of childhood—sitting on the curb
waiting to grow into my feelings.
And now look at me.
I hope you don’t think I’m crazy,
I hope you like the hand-carved
canoe I brought you. Let’s
see if it floats.

Emily Alexander eats food and lives in Idaho. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in Hobart Pulp, Crab Creek Review, and Puerto del Sol.