Love, Alaska by Lindsey Neely Her voice on my answering machine pushed air around my kitchen. I sat at the table, in a dark corner that goes backward with time. You would love it here. I remember her like August— Late summer heavy in our mouths, exploding like firecrackers on our skin. Our skin that clung like static in hair. We looked up on a sky partly starless, Our twin god of a moon hung in a trance. Sing our truth, she whispered, We have come so far from need. Now, it is almost winter here. A whole autumn gone and I don’t know one new thing about you. Your mail shows up like a stranger. I pass it for days, glaring— Is that really you in there? I know it will be winter there, soon. Alaska, you are still charcoal and ash. How many stars can you count in your sky? What does the moon look like without us under it? 8 theMeadow
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