by Rachel Turney
Teeth
My lover, a pluviophile, stands in the doorway
smelling the petrichor and listening to the
raindrops freeze to grapple.
He is the cynosure of my little daily life
and I watch him like an injured lion
coveting a swift gazelle.
I tap the enamel of my teeth, waiting
to be noticed.
Return to the Water
I am backing out of your presence,
showing deference. I back up and back up
with my hand to my heart.
My feathers are all singed and boiled.
As such, I am no longer able to fly.
I nod; I smile in dance.
Dancing painted and adorned,
for your amusement.
I am beautiful but too sexy.
I am lovely but too comely.
I wish I could be a fish
instead of a harpy.
Yarn
U
n
r a
vel
me like a ball of…
Cover me with dirt
and sand and melancholy
sunshine.
Water, water until I grow
again, right into your mouth.
Sweet. You tell me I taste
like cotton candy. I spin
and spin, building.
Hold me to your lips
where I
m
e
l
t.
I want luxury.
ecstasy.
a bit of mercy.
a bit of pain.
What can you give me?
What can you take?
Combine with me
and u n r a v e l:
slowly, intentionally,
without end.
Rachel Turney, Ed.D. is an educator and artist located in Denver, Colorado. Rachel is on staff at Bare Back Magazine and is a reader for The Los Angeles Review. Rachel is a poetry mentor for AWP. She runs the popular online reading series Poetry (in Brief). Her debut book, Record Player Life (the b-side), is available with The Poetry Lighthouse. Website: turneytalks.com Instagram: @turneytalks