Volume 10 (Fall 2015)

Alexis Rhone Fancher



                  a cento from the book by Joan Didion, 1970

1. Pretty good, she heard herself say after only the slightest pause.

She felt nothing.

She tried to straighten a drawer, and abandoned it.

I missed a transition, he said finally.

2. She had at last done something that reached him, but now it was too late.

Some people resist, he said.

The water in the pool was always 85 degrees and it was always clean.

Some people don't want to know.

3. For days during the rain she did not speak out loud or read a newspaper.

What am I supposed to do, he had said before he left the house.

I mean we could definitely stand a few giggles.

4. A few days later the dreams began.

You're lying in water and it's warm and you hear your mother's voice.

In the past few minutes he had significantly altered her perception of reality.

She said that it was not too cold.

5. What in fuck am I supposed to do?

His voice was measured, uninflected, as if he had been

saying the words to himself all night.

6. She leaned against the padded elevator wall and closed her eyes.

How much do you want it, he used to say.

7. Do you think he talked to God?

I mean do you think God answered?

Alexis Rhone Fancher is the author of How I Lost My Virginity To Michael Cohen and Other Heart Stab Poems (Sybaritic Press, 2014). You can find her work in Rattle, The MacGuffin, Fjords, Broadzine!, Slipstream, H_NGM_N, The Chiron Review, Menacing Hedge, Ragazine, Cactus Heart, Carbon Culture Review, The Literary Underground, and elsewhere. Alexis is Photography Editor of Fine Linen Literary Journal, and poetry editor of Cultural Weekly, where she also publishes "The Poet’s Eye," a monthly photo essay about Los Angeles.

On Libations: I’ve been a Campari and tonic - tall with lime - drinker since my first visit to Italy in my early

twenties. It’s very refreshing, and I like the mix of bitter and sweet, the tang of the tonic; the tart of the lime. If that is unavailable (more often than not), I order Jack Daniels, neat. Water back. Reminds me of my second ex-husband. Go figure.