For the Survivors
Winter wind pulls apart birch bark like labia, leaving a scar.
When did I become a creature best violated?
We are all tender beasts, in which January is a soft rot.
He meant it.
He didn't mean it.
As a kid, I dreamed of magic tricks.
He pulled me out like a dead dove from his sleeve.
Endless stream of red cloth.
How do I claim I never wanted this?
A drunk girl with an unlocked door
sounds like the beginning of a joke.
This is not a joke.
It never was.
Alix Wood was raised by two mothers on Anna Maria Island, Florida. At the University of Vermont, she was the editor-in-chief of The Gist, the school's literary and art magazine. Her work has been published by SWWIM, Poached Hare, Impossible Archetype, Screen Door Review, Plenitude Magazine, Crab Fat Magazine and Sundog Lit. Alix’s poetry frequently centers around the body, bisexuality, trauma, family relationships, mental illness and the natural world. She is currently an MFA student in poetry at North Carolina State University.