In which I explain myself by Alex Dawson
In which I explain myselfAlex DawsonI want the garden, not the flowersin their sterile vase, I want the bees,the fruit, the soil under my nails,I want to make a mealof what is true. The grit and griefof life, the words you never said,caught in your throat, I wantthem like I want the birdsto follow the invitation ofthe moon. When I was young,someone peeled my eyes widelike wild grapes. Don’t you see?I couldn’t close them if I tried.More from Alex Dawson ↓@alexdawcreates on InstagramThe Messy Writer's Club on SubstackHer book, All these Living Things, is out nowShe curated and edited the…
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