Brian Pavlich
Louisiana's new Poet Laureate Alison Pelegrin.
Because I chewed gritty sassafras once,
chasing the burn of root beer on my lips,
I felt I was a survivor, or that I could be
when the time came, which it most definitely would.
Alarmist, AC diva, mildly prophetic
Cassandra pantomiming my distress—
nobody believed how easy it was
to trace on an antiqued globe a path
from every danger to my backyard.
I prepared by keeping my treasures portable—
sand dollars, rabbit’s foot keychain, pencils
too small, too valuable to write with
unless it was to mark thrilling pictures
in the books I’d have to leave behind.
Poor Medusa—alarmed, collared with gore.
I vowed never to be shocked like that—
mouth moving after death, but without words.
On my globe the equator was a raised line—
a decal I took literally. The day was coming
when life would be halved. In science class
we refashioned shrews from owl pellets
studded with bones, so naturally I believed
a new world might grow from trinkets
rattling in a cigar box where chain letters came to die.
Learn more about how Pelegrin will support regional literary programs through her role as Poet Laureate at leh.org.
