A is an arrow bent through
the apple of my eye more like
Adam’s apple, first fruit,
in the now forbidden garden, its
rusted gate closed and draped with
the vines of my eternal longing.

B is a hive of a letter, a buzz
through my pressed lips,
a breath of carbon dioxide
for the swarm to detect,
sworn to protect a queen
deep in their combs,
those hexagons of sweetness.

C is the cove, the cavern, the
comma of a consonant with
its hard bark and soft sibilance
pressing at my throat and tongue
the cackle and the hiss.

D as in dog and (ma)donna
that bitch of a letter that
damns and demands. Don’t
begins with it and stops me
dead. I worship its divine
dogma(donna)ness.

E is a scream, a screech
that send chills and gnashes
my teeth. It’s the short sound
of child punched in the stomach,
unless it’s silent and passé.

F you is the curse of all curses
a favorite Anglo-Saxon construct
full of finger gestures and
flipping the bird. F’n this
and F’n that! Go F yourself!

G is the letter I practiced                            
with a flourish, the first
letter of my father’s name
passed on to my brother
a genetic logo of generations.

H is pronounced hay-ch
in my family’s vernacular
Even one of the aunts,
Helen by birth, was referred to
only by this nomenclature.

I is the first person point of view
in a story told from a myopic
cycloptic position. It is an
Ionic column holding up the
roof of a climax that finally
slides into my denouement.

J is that flash of blue off a bird’s
wing, it stands before Jesus, Justice,
and Josephine. It makes me
jump for joy and runs over
with the sweet juices of the world.

K cuts me to the quick
or stands silent like the
e, pronounced only in
the Middle Ages
knight, knee, knife.

L is my favorite letter
the first letter of Laura
its script curving and curling
a calligrapher’s dream.

M is magic tingling,
eclectic power running.
If I curl my fingers
in the direction of
the current, my thumb
will point to its source.

N is plain as the nose
on my face and with
its neighbor sounds
the depths of the ultimate
negative neither nether nor NO.

O is a round letter like a kind of chair
in which I can sit encircled by a deep
plush velvet the color of pinot noir
and rest my head on shot silk draped
over the back, spilling on the marble
floor. Candlelight bounces from
bronze sconces as a party
swirls around me full of false laughter
from the perfect O’s of glossy lips
to the sweat under sequined gowns from
balancing on stilettos & trying too hard.

P as a letter named
is scatological in nature
but it is grander than that
with its patrician family tree
pursing my lips with disdain
and a soft puff of air.

Q informs one of the two
alternate spellings I know
of cat, Q.E.D. and can rarely be
separated from the vowel u
quid pro quo, quiet quite quaint.

R is regal, rex, roaring like
a river over the falls as I
remain in a rainbow of mist
rising into the blue.

S should be for snake
because it slithers sinuously
a sign wave of a letter
turned on its side
hissing and kissing
my way through its syllables,
but today it is for sale,
like CEO, sold-out,
or the sound of
spending cold hard cash.

T has a geometry of style
the 90 degree angle,
180 degrees, an intersection
in equidistance, a T-square
or a T-shirt or even that
golden steeped liquid
in a delicate porcelain cup
I lift, fragrant, to my mouth.

U, ewe, you
undulating even
without me.

V starts out vicious
transmuting into viscous
violet or violent
violins, Viola’s very
Victorian volumes or
volt or vault but in the
end I might vant
to be alone.

W is my monogram
etched in silver
women worry
woeful and worn
War starts here.

X is my crossroads
it marks the spot
a symbol of love.

Y is a glass of champagne
as years end and new
years begin leaving me,
as always, with a question.