by Catherine Strisik

Say it. Say. While standing
on your head: the Greek alphabet,
and I will toss you pennies. Keep going.

It’s an alphabet. It’s the first alphabet.
It’s the alphabet said by Alexander the Greek.
Say it. Alexander the Greek. Say Alexander the

Great. History says we are related by DNA.
No, but we really are. We are.
See my crooked teeth. Twenty-four

letters, chant as though we always existed: Antiquity, Ovum,
Alpha Beta Gamma,
that’s three pennies for you.

An alphabet that cries, waves, swoons
in the air at Delphi circling the stadium,
everybody’s running the length.

We sing in the alphabet where it becomes sumptuous,
and the alphabet is melodic when striking ancient.
Crescent. A blue root. Over here, a copper cup

with water for drinking and water for bathing
the inside of your mouth
when you speak fluently. Hear, my voice-

silhouetted-dedicated-life force
a warmed shape resembling Omega.
Round your lips. O-me-ga

Early mornings, it’s the smallest birds that perch
around the feeders, pick seed. And song.
Say: Epsilon, Iota.

A full mouth. Yes.
The crown of your head lights up the room,
and now scattered pennies.

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Catherine Strisik, poet, teacher, editor is Taos, New Mexico’s 2nd Poet Laureate 2020-2021; is a recipient of 2020 Taoseña Award as Woman of Impact based on literary contribution; is author of Insectum Gravitis (finalist New Mexico/AZ Book Award in Poetry 2020); The Mistress (awarded New Mexico/AZ Book Award for Poetry 2017); Thousand-Cricket Song, and a recently completed manuscript And They Saw Me Turn To Hear Them (semi-finalist, Philip Levine Prize in Poetry, 2021). Numerous publications span over 30 years, including awards and Pushcart nominations, and with poetry translated into Greek, Persian, and Bulgarian. See cathystrisik.com.