I don’t know how to write a poem, not a good one at least
But I can feel one
Trapped in the darkness between my lungs and ribs
It echos like a storm, until my bones rattle and splinter
Until flesh is torn, again and again and again
My body wasn’t made to handle hurricanes
My hands can only hold on for so long until they tire
I can’t write a poem, but I can feel one
In my wrists and fingers
Vibrations from inside my chest cavity that fill up the absence
And ripple out like water
It’s the just the aftermath, wrecked homes that look like splints from up above
But that’s the closet you’ll ever get to the storm

March was the swelling, the cracking, grey clouds on the horizon ready to swallow
April was the storm that washed us under, held our heads down and told us to count to ten
May is the aftermath, the leftovers, the flood and rain have passed, but what now
What do we do with all the scraps and broken bits
Do we just make fires and wait
Like Noah in his boat
Watching the looming clouds
And counting to ten

How do we take control of our story once we’re dead?
How do we write the wrongs that men have written
Over and over and over again
Seared into our minds like a brand
You see, we don’t see you for what you were
We only see you as how you were told
Just another hedonistic woman in history whose own downfall was herself
Its all out of your control now
Your image is wrecked and ruined
You’ve been forgotten and ******
By both the gods and the people
And the worst part is
Is that no one can ever truly fix that
And it makes you think
How many times has this happened?
Again and again and again

Part I
Oh, Alexandria
Your historic halls line our imaginations
The Muses themselves blessed each and every one of your books
You were the mother of knowledge, who took in all and shared your wisdom
New ideas were formed under your roof, older ones translated and kept alive
Your downfall didn’t come in one catastrophic fire, no
It started before and after, a slow and painful death
It was the death of knowledge itself
Where military might and politics take over
Where hate for the different is sparked
And all that is considered sacred and important for humanity’s health
All that keeps us alive
Is pushed aside
And we fall
That is the death of Alexandria
That is the death of humanity

Part II
Death seems like an unmovable thing
Something which cannot leave or go to or change
This may be why we think of the scrolls of scholars and poets as only ash and smoke
As some greater that we will never reach again
But that’s not true
Because Alexandria’s death didn’t stop us
In her wake, we’ve continued to grow and create
To change and move and make in the face of death itself
We are resilient, we are stubborn, we are the fire that never goes out
That pulses in our veins and keeps us going
And we will continue to do so long after Alexandria is gone from our memory
This isn’t the end it’s just the beginning
That is her glory
That is our rebirth

Sweet youth, drinking wine
Amongst the gods
May you fly up to the stars
So your beauty can be forever immortalized
As one

Most of the time, I don’t think of you
Maybe it’s because of your age
Maybe it’s because we’re safer now
Or maybe it’s because I live in always-sunny California
But when that sky does darken
And the rain comes down
I’ll hear you
Like some primordial call, dug up from the Earth or my bones
Sometimes-I’ll even see you, but just for a moment
By now, I’ve forgotten what your face looks like
But I can’t ever unlearn that power
Its no wonder you used to be the king of gods

There’s no better time than now to celebrate
Even when it feels like the world is ending, rejoice
Rejoice for life, rejoice for living, never forget
That we will always be able to fill our cups
Our sorrows will always be replaced by happiness
We will always be here after the storm