Ongoing Commitments

By Alexandra Scale | 16 May 14

By Alexandra Scale


There’s no known antidote

For hoarders of economies.


Borders silence the noise of identity,

Screaming: our waters, our fish, our metals.

Godlike dominions

Cultivate seeds of dialogue,

Growing thick and fast—into branches—

Blocking the outside world from view.


Oceans bloat hearts with apathy

And with distance license

The shipping of souls

To islands of black and blue.


Walls of a compound

Trap personal histories and

Soak minds with the enzymes of sorrow.

Once bound to a home of explosions

And locked into combat,

Now a metal bed with a number etched on it,

Counting down

From one war to another.


Wire constricts

The rhythm of blood

Until it’s red on the tissue

Of a tent floor.

Those guards fill your cheeks

With a punch—

A miscellaneous incident

For the masses,

But a singular desolation

For you: the detainee.


Scars speak

To a grief so chiseled

It burrows into the pulp of your skin

And lives there.

A wrinkle down your forehead,

Splits your face in two.

One side for you,

Another side for others.


In the curve of your hand

You shepherd moths into safety,

While the tears clump to your face like snow

And your cries fill the wind.

You rock faith in your arms

Until it drifts into permanent sleep.


So you bury your fears in the sand

Of a hourglass





You’re just a person really,

Just a person.


Alexandra Scale is a keen word enthusiast studying a Master of Arts (Writing and Literature) at Deakin University, Australia. She is currently on exchange at the University of Iceland; you can catch up on her wanderings and ramblings on her blog: