top of page


—Alex Etheridge


          After Cesar Vallejo

I’ve died many times in this life,

there with my blood in the snow.

And later, my drunken fall

at three AM,

drowning in the dark.

And there in an ER, a sheet

pulled over my face. I died at birth.

I died by my own

hand, in another city,

for nothing. I died

once before I woke, only

to die again

as I looked out at a foggy dawn.

I died because I wished

to do so. Once

I died as another person.

Once I stepped off a high ledge.

I died for crumbs and I died for everything.

Again I turned to

dust, and rose once more.

Again I denied it.

Again I was


or blended into rainfall,

or torn apart by light.


by a firing squad.

Before I ever began

I was buried,

giving it all up,

or taking it with me

to the other side—

Each time I was born into

a stark eternity—Alone, as I wished

to be, passing

through fire and shadow,

floodwater and winter—


by the world’s treacheries,

then lost

to the oceans inside me.


ALEXANDER ETHERIDGE has been developing his poems and translations since 1998. His poems have been featured in The Potomac Review, Scissors and Spackle, Ink Sac, Cerasus Journal, The Cafe Review, The Madrigal, Abridged Magazine, Susurrus Magazine, The Journal, Roi Faineant Press, and many others.  He was the winner of the Struck Match Poetry Prize in 1999, and a finalist for the Kingdoms in the Wild Poetry Prize in 2022.  He is the author of, God Said Fire, and the forthcoming, Snowfire and Home.

bottom of page