Every nerve moves
to the surface and raw.
Will you touch, will you burn,
will she bite. You’re thinking
in the light less illuminating
than the contents of the brain
shifting in the night. She’s a sinuous
gray animal just beneath
your surface. Her tongue
is lewdly in the ice and fishing
for your freeze and thaw. Have another leaf and turn. Face
behind the sternum and
what brilliant howl is waiting
to be peeled from the waiting—and maybe
none, when we look twice riveting
than we are in the slow think of meat. Inside sleeps
the centennial wonder: when.
the cut flowers will whisper their scent
but will you listen
with your mouth stuffed
to the brim with your own lose hair and wonder
how small the body’s become, or will you do
to painting feeble expression
Rebecca Ann Jordan is a speculative fiction author, artist, and editor. Her stories and poems have been published in Strange Horizons, Flapperhouse, Fiction Vortex, Strangelet, and more. In 2015 Becca participated in the Clarion Writer’s Workshop and holds an MFA from California Institute of the Arts in 2016. While Becca first sprung from the earth near the San Diego area, she now sells weird and wonderful books in the mountain town of Durango, Colorado. See more at rebeccaannjordan.com or follow her @beccaquibbles.