Text

i think of alice
young
large eyes set
in her face
the photographs
that slipped
out of my hands
spraying onto
the floor like cards
the sound of them
was like death
dry and fussy

when we sat in the
boat, her parasol was
like a shield against me
the simple white
cotton frock would have
burned my fingers
had i touched the soft
fabric
the cakes we ate tasted
like dust in my mouth

my mouth was dry when
i asked to take
her picture
she posed in a pink dress
her hands soft and pressing
against one another
behind the camera i watched
her without need to check
my glance
she smiled at the camera
not at me
the smile of a young girl
who cares not for anything
save for sweets and the gentle
rocking of the boat as it
drifts down the river

her eyes were full of
wonder when i told her
of the other alice
the alice with the golden
hair and how she followed
the white rabbit and escaped
the red queen
'you're nothing but a pack of cards'
her sisters would laugh
the begged for more
drawings spun out beneath my
ink pen
detailing this other alice

she had a pure unclouded brow
her mouth would slip into
a smile
'tell us another story'
sometimes i let them watch
the photographs develop
their young faces
at first ghostly in the pictures
the smell of chemicals in the
air
alice, her laugh spun its way
through my mind
sharp

the photographs slipped
out of my hands
i shall not soon return
the stories cease to be told
and i grow old and
the laughter has ceased
i remember the touch of her
small fingers on my face
as she asked for another
story and i despair
the red queen has given
me my sentence
'off with his head!'