Two Poems by Alessandra Massameno

Matted Grass

Whiskey sour breath,
a vermillion trance
borne of carbon molecules and
plywood backbones.

Thirteen of thirteen,
ten of twelve.

She is a sorcerous

counting the stars
in her microcosm
of an expanse.

Dangling betwixt her
semicolonic pair of
breasts, a
pressed penny,

the memento of
a childhood ago-

blue spun, swabbed sugar,
buzzing, yellowed copper bulbs;
twanging notes
on oil-slick air.

A trifold world of
crested fantasy
fanning reality,
cruelty.

Sickly-sweet air
floats on a bed of
cider, sugared dough.

The premise of
childhood–

the simpering whisper
of gears, rolling on a rusted
Ferris wheel,
stupefying.

Thunderstorm Watch

The car’s fluid motion
creates a wake;

tires whine,
clenching the pavement.

Water parts
with sleek precision.

Sound of metal
creasing into blunt rock,

pitch resonates,
rattles her eardrums
with numb exuberance.

Fistfuls of gravel
propel themselves
from under spinning tires–

a barrage of
ammunition in her periphery.

A rush
of color
floods the dashboard.

The tang
of blood
fuses with
dry whisky.

Soul meets sanctity
in splintering glass.

The wipers keep
wagging.

Alessandra Massameno
Alessandra Massameno is a student in her last year at Harvard, concentrating in English Literature and a secondary field of creative writing. Her writing has been published on an online edition of H-Bomb, Harvard College’s literary magazine on sex, power, and counterculture. She is currently working on her fist novel.