Lucky rabbit on the spit and who will eat her

When E is gone
and left
who will I be?

I spin wifeless,
lifespan, linen.
I breath intervals.

I go down aces.
I flip skinflint,
fur hat, ashcan.

She turns wood.
I’m one branch
took to pieces:

prick knot bark
stake stave wand
slat bar twig

post mast peg
shoot shrub switch.
Hard and slight.

I can’t make
of these arms
for anyone.

Flammable
against my will,
very warm

then cold again.
Very warm, less
cold, lesser still.

.

.


Rachel Mindell is the author of Like a Teardrop and a Bullet (Dancing Girl Press) and rib and instep: honey (forthcoming from above/ground). Individual poems have appeared (or will) in Pool, DIAGRAM, Bombay Gin, BOAAT, Interim, Forklift, Ohio, The Journal, Sundog Lit and elsewhere. She works for Submittable.