Two Poems by Alina Stefanescu

[Of barbershop pomade]

a man who

can't die

isn't tragic

like jesus

is totally untragic

like i want to be

magic —

the tragedy depends

on mortality

the sense of

an ending

dies if you can't

manage —

if you sit there

girlbossing Forever

[Will I ever think of someone who isn't a person?]

after C. X. Hua's "Going (Guest House)"

In the story I tell about myself

I belonged. To his mouth. To his vowels

& verbs & clauses. The epic butter of flowers,

mid-table. The vise grip. It was

something to be wanted

in the clutch's expectation.

In the vision of the room he enters.

He needn't even knock.

It is the room for which he labors.

Family values on mantles, framed.

The dead eyes of the doe above.

The dead eyes of does

have no questions.

Author's note: Both poems are titled by lines from Silvina Ocampo's The Promise

Alina Stefanescu was born in Romania and lives in Birmingham, Alabama. More online at www.alinastefanescuwriter.com.