I’m not asking you for Paris— to carry me between the clouds and dance in gold-laced bliss. Not asking for unstained ivory, to rob a mammal for a kiss. Just give me your morning breath, framed by dewy lips. I’ll give you walking in step across rough pavements when your feet falter. Give you my hands as hairbrush when your own grow too stiff to grip the handle. I can’t promise fireworks at your lips and wings inside your stomach each day, but sunny eyes to grow towards, and the space each day to do so.
Alixa Brobbey spent portions of her childhood in both The Netherlands and Ghana. She has a B.A. degree in English from Brigham Young University, where she won the Academy of American Poets Prize in 2020. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in The Blue Marble Review, Segullah, Inscape, The Albion Review, The Susquehanna Review, The Palouse Review, and others. She will begin attending BYU Law School in Fall 2021.