2 Poems by Alina Stefanescu

Words I Need From My Sister

for Carla

In the morning, I notice a tangle
of new bird tongues. 
A conversation in the bushes
continues without us.

Dear sister,
if you remember the secret
land we found in the
woods behind the house,
magic words we turned in circles
to enter safety— please tell me. 

What we say now is diaper-tired
Seussical magpie, a mysterious
language thrust onto loving tongues. 
But the words are not ours.
The magic is foreign landing.


This Night

This night is what fractals divine
from sticks like honey to fingers,
its form, a postage stamp I like
before geometry. The sight of love’s bare ankle
is not the same as having seen its Achilles’ heel.
One cover forbids the other.

Let me see what smashes against
the windshield of latter-day roadkill.
The love you hoped to learn from
bewildered carcass lips.

I covet the marvel of jiggling thighs
and what I love of you is excess.
The fat I don’t eat from meat.
The craving one carves off. 


Alina Stefanescu is a poet who can't keep her fingers out of fiction. She was born in Romania but lives in Tuscaloosa with her partner and four native mammal species. Her story, "White Tennis Shoes", won the 2015 Ryan R. Gibbs Flash Fiction Award, and her chapbook, "Objects In Vases", is forthcoming from Anchor & Plume in March 2016. You can read her poetry and prose in current issues of PoemMemoirStory, Tinge Magazine, Jellyfish Review, New Delta Review, and others. More online at www.alinastefanescu.com.


Elijah Tubbs