Erin Elizabeth Smith

Sesquicentennial Alice

A hundred and fifty years, and it’s hard
to believe I’m no longer a girl,

aged into bluebonnet dresses
and spooned-up hair-dos.  I have become

a woman turned upside down
in behind-the-scene featurettes,

all Redbox demure, gazing
with Victorian reticence

into the CVS parking lot.
How I got here, I never know,

following this cat or that dormouse
through the gardens of chatterbox

bulbs, while the CGI rabbit
flicks open his watch and proclaims

his short-hand terror no differently
than he had before.  And grown,

I still fit in a teacup, wash
through the keyhole on the same sea

of tears, given to white-masted ships
and a freshly colonized world.




 Bio: Erin Elizabeth Smith

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