losing our grip on purpose

Alicia Swain

In the thick and humid air, I sit with my legs crossed
on the damp grass waiting for the droplets to fall,
frantic as I capture every thriving green leaf
on a page of its deceased kin, words scribbled
faster and faster until the rain washes away the ink

I did not have the time to use today, my passions
driving the ship rather than my responsibilities,
the clock ticks too loudly to ignore, start the car,
venture to a job and leave the joy of creating
in the rearview, leave the joy of life in the rearview

until I cannot suppress it anymore, my fingers ache
with the desire to form figures from clay, to steal
flowers from the earth and freeze them in time
where they can rest on a chain until the chain breaks,
my mind craves to tell a story of another world

where I do not deserve to hide because my body falters
too often to ignore the moments where I feel well,
too often to ignore the moments when I can move,
tend, cleanse, tidy, brush away the signs of living
that reside in this home, start the car, go to work

leave the joy of life in the rearview, I cannot
leave joy in the rearview, I sit in the damp grass

Alicia Swain is a feminist poet and fiction writer living in Richmond, VA. She has an English BA from Penn State University and an English MA from Eastern Illinois University. Her debut poetry collection is coming out in 2025, and her work has been published in Half and One, The Vehicle, The Closed Eye Open, and Cathexis Northwest Press. She can be found on her website at https://aliciaswain.com/ and on social media platforms as @aliciamswain.

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