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Foretelling My Sister’s Demise
It’s the same, sad dream every night.
I awake at dawn, bolt upright.
There’s a text message from my niece..
Mom has passed away. Please pray.
I awake at dawn, bolt upright.
I can’t shake this feeling of dread.
Mom has passed away. Please pray.
Yes, I text back. I’ve been dreaming it.
I can’t shake this feeling of dread.
It’s real now, not just in my head.
Yes, I text back. I’ve been dreaming it.
Nothing she could say would surprise me.
It’s real now, not just in my head.
There’s a text message from my niece.
Nothing she could say would surprise me.
It’s the same, sad dream every night.
~~~
Meeting an Old Friend
It’s a while since our paths crossed.
You’ve lost weight! she says.
15 pounds, I tell her.
I have a sad leanness.
You’re so thin! she says.
It wasn’t intentional.
I have a reluctant sleekness.
Was it Atkins? Keto? She wants to know.
It wasn’t intentional.
Ii’s call it the Grief Diet, I tell her.
Not Atkins? Keto? She wants to know.
No, I tell her. My sister died.
Ii’s called the Grief Diet, I tell her.
15 pounds, I tell her.
My sister died.
It’s a while since our paths crossed.
~~~
Tonight My Dead Sister Asks Me to Stop Grieving
Enough already! My sister says..
I can’t bear to watch you anymore.
I know she’s right. But I can’t stop.
I mean where would I put my sorrow?
I can’t bear to watch you anymore.
She’s right, of course. But here’s the thing:
I’d have to swallow my grief.
Stuff it down! My sister says.
She’s right, of course. But here’s the thing:
I am drowning in despair.
Stuff it down! My sister says.
She’s always been stoic, a badass.
I am drowning in sorrow.
I know she’s right. But I can’t stop.
She always was stoic, a badass.
Enough already! My sister says.
~~~
Copyright 2025 Alexis Rhone Fancher. These poems will appear in SinkHole to be released in early 2026 by MacQueen’s.

Poet/photographer Alexis Rhone Fancher is the author of ten published books. A coffee table book of Alexis’ photo portraits of over 100 Southern California poets will be published in early 2026 by Moon Tide Press. She and her husband live and collaborate in the Mojave Desert, a half-hour drive from Palm Springs. They have a spectacular view.
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oh Alexis. The first one is where I am in grief. The last one is probably where I’m going. Beautifully done.
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oh Alexis. Beautiful. Especially that first one. Well actually the second too and the third, well I haven’t gotten there yet, if you know what I mean. Love you.
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beautiful work…perfect choice of form to lend shape to the poems
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Thank you for these. This from a guy who buried two brothers, the younger when he was 23, the older 22, leaving me stuck in the middle with heroin surging like piranhas through my veins.
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Beautiful prose poem, Matt., but a high cost to write it.
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Yes, but the catharsis is usually worth it, and which I believe is a big part of what impels us to write to begin with.
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Beautiful work, Alexis, using the form’s repetition and variation so perfectly to show grief’s stubborn recurrence, its repetitive feeling and thinking. Thank you, And I’m sorry you have had to learn this.
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Such beautiful poems about the deep persistence of loss and grief–so perfectly rendered in the form.
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I agree!
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My mind melded them and the emotion more than tripled if one can quantify emotion which I can’t but there it was. I love form and these were masterful.
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Yes, they are masterful.
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Excellent!
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The form is ideal to express the fear and the grief. The repetition makes it stronger. I admired every one of these.
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Repetition is hard to use effectively in a written text because it is, by definition, redundant, but Alexis uses it to deepen the emotion with an obsessive focus that feels like denial. A master stroke!
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These are so haunting — like grief always is. So haunting! The cadence of these poems resonates long after their closure. I found that lines from one pantoum could seamlessly be woven into, and out of, the other poems — a pantoum triptych.
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So perceptive, Laure-Anne. Thank you.
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I felt these. Thank you.
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