by Emily Corwin
let’s to the wood and I will vanish you your spirit smeared
under my riding cloak, my waistcoat smock and petticoat sugarloaf hat
kerchief let me scrub your woolens and billhook I will keep secret
about the wood clickety clackety there you are I will have you for meat cutlet
there you are your fibula wriggles on the chopping block
the leg-hold trap beseech me not I slurp, wagging my jaws in a yolk sac
the chick never incubated never eggtooth a baby in a butter churn mashed
baa baa baa Black Philip holds fast he gallops against my lumbar disc
myself undressed I confess: I have been delicious as satin tinseled
I’ll be in field, rid of my kindred reek stockings off what went we out to find
if not wolves athirst I dangle from the jack pines
sucking on a silver chalice.
Emily Corwin is an MFA candidate in poetry at Indiana University-Bloomington and the former Poetry Editor for Indiana Review. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Gigantic Sequins, New South, Yemassee, Grist, THRUSH, and elsewhere. She has two chapbooks, My Tall Handsome (Brain Mill Press) and darkling (Platypus Press) which were published in 2016. Her first full-length collection, tenderling is forthcoming in 2018 from Stalking Horse Press. You can follow her online at @exitlessblue