Allyson Boggess


This is the day of transformation: green
lungs are waking in dusk’s shelters of light.
Each ream dealt soft through your fingers seems
impossibly gilt. So I have a slight
favor to ask: measure the center stage
that’s blooming just outside your bedroom door.
Weigh carefully the heads of every sage
before you tear those suckers out: please floor
yourself, I am floored by you, new-lunged friend.
Just look at all the roots fingering the ground—
even in the absence of water, they lend
their anchors, ring your head a fibrous crown.
Exhale the sedum, spire like you’re sinking,
like you are land and thirst for what I’m drinking.

Auto Inspection

This is my broken windshield wiper,
      the osteoporotic spine.

It’s a trundle bridge against the glass,
      a cracked suspension.

In the winter, it slung a snow wing
      & held it there, a cataract.

Now tire spray. A smeared deer fly
      fails my eyes. How do I

see you through this streaking,
      this breakdown of rubber.

Author Portrait

Allyson Boggess holds an MFA in poetry from Arizona State University and was one of the 2013 winners of the City of Phoenix Streetscape Poetry Project. She recently read her ekphrastic poetry at the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art as a part of an ongoing art and poetry series. Her poems have been published by PANK and The Collagist. She currently teaches writing at Arizona State University and the Harvard Extension School.

View the website of Allyson Boggess