TWO POEMS by ALEXA VALLEJO
Knife Fight Sestina for My Dying Mother
A poem can’t thrill without
bloodshed. I’ve never been stabbed, but I know
what it’s like to be gutted.
The universe twists the knife,
then leaves you on the ground to die.
You cry out for your mother,
who isn’t sure she’s your mother
at all. Worse than forgetting is learning she can survive without
you or your memory. It’s watching her die
piece by piece. You didn’t know
how gradual dying is, how iterative, like a thousand tiny knife
wounds you survive until you don’t. Reality is gutted,
replaced with a green screen. You’ll be gutted
too, after your mother
loses her last knife
fight, and you’re forced to exist without
her. I know
we all need to die
for life to have meaning. But the end sucks so bad. My mom will die
with her mind gutted
and plundered. If she forgets me and my sister, will she even know
she’s a mother?
Will she look at her C-section scars without
remembering both times she went under the knife?
Now her heart is fucked up, and even if the knife
can buy her time, she’ll still die
without
a fix for her brain. My father is gutted
but more patient with my mother
than I’ve ever seen. I know
he’s always loved her, despite history. I know
he’s staying alive specifically for her. Another fucking knife
to the heart. My mother
trusts in the grace of God, she’s sure she’ll die
with Jesus by her side. Her faith has always gutted
me, how she can live without
her children but not the Lord. Tell me who loves my mother more. I know
I’m not without sin, but at least I’m corporeal. If God were real, I’d knife
Him in the throat. I’d leave that asshole to die, bloodless. Gutted.
Super Nintendo
Boys in the image
of American Jesus
circle jerk to pornos
while they call
each other gay,
they will never
speak of this
again. Once, at
a sleepover, a boy
touched himself
in the half-bath
until he spilled
into the toilet.
Then he invited
you to do the same.
But puberty hadn’t
come, and neither
could you. He
moaned through
the door to
encourage you,
he breathed your
name like a girl.
After a while,
you told him
to stop, zipped
up your pants
and flushed his
sperm. Now it
was too late for
Super Nintendo.
Now it was time
to go to bed.
Alexa Vallejo's poetry has appeared in Voicemail Poems, Illuminations, Discount Guillotine, Black Fox Literary Magazine, and swamp pink. Her chapbook, Girls Love, was published by Bottlecap Press in 2025. Find all her projects at www.sashav.love.