by Kait Quinn, after Elizabeth Willis*
Lace sourdough loaves with garlic cloves,
oiled and roasted, bad for the tongue, so good
for a withered constitution—gochujang, kimchi,
aïgo bouïdo. Kiss me, darling, I ate them whole!
Chased the taste with lime!
She will spill merlot onto black velvet. Throw back
tequila in a whiskey Texas town, slam the glass
like gospel down, throw moon, howl insults to
mortality. Love, lick salvation from my wounds.
Drown me in your Atlantic mouth.
She will migrate to the desert, take devil’s tine
to palm, cup crimson to sun, then shatter
terracotta belly on August’s waning scythe.
I want you star-scaped so I can trace and retrace
Pyxis across your spine.
She will pressure it soft between leather and love line.
Pass velour and grab. Clip chamomile for tea, sage
for broth. Check earth’s pulse with two fingers taut.
Beloved, peel off my glove. I want to feel you handful
by bare handful. Fill my love lines with your dead.
*Title is a line from the poem “The Witch” by Elizabeth Willis.
Kait Quinn (she/her) was born with salt in her wounds. She flushes the sting of living by writing poetry. She is the author of four poetry collections, and her work appears in Reed Magazine, Watershed Review, Chestnut Review, and elsewhere. She received first place in the 2022 John Calvin Rezmerski Memorial Grand Prize. Kait is an Editorial Associate at Yellow Arrow Publishing and a poetry reader for Black Fox Literary Magazine. She enjoys repetition,coffee shops, tattoos, and vegan breakfast. Kait lives in Minneapolis with her partner, their regal cat, and their very polite Aussie mix. Find her at kaitquinn.com
