Sick

Rachel Mindell

 

She of the trust
vein, walking the ridgetop
when it knocked.
Not trees, updraft.
Curved creek.

Cue pain.

Belly, sweat, knees, tongue,
windows, tumor.

A curated dread parable.

Mother again floating.
Fourth-story father.

And then was all very
public and medical and
counted and dew-damp,
nightstand, glass feet,
ok a body.

Bees come near, twice.
Bitter seeds.
Silicon breast.

Antique diamond
how she will be cut upon.

 
 

Rachel Mindell is a writer, editor, and teacher living in Tucson. Her third chapbook, “May/be,” was just released by Tammy. Individual poems have appeared (or will) in Black Warrior Review, Denver Quarterly, DIAGRAM, Foglifter, Sycamore Review, and elsewhere. She works for Submittable and the University of Arizona Poetry Center.