Litany at 92 Pounds

poetry 0
Rita Feinstein
Icicled to perfection, cold curves
	++softly weeping, I can pierce
		++++like some narwhal’s tooth
exquisite, almost mythic.
	++My body is a tuning fork,
		++++sung when struck, a frequency
pure as white vinegar. I’m hollow
	++as a new moon, satin as a glove.
		++++Bloodless and clean, an alpine lake,
a rainbow trout’s butterflied skin.
	++An archaeology site, a spine
		++++baked into salt, a skull
scoured by sand. The flickering wick
	++of a peppermint candle, the teeth
		++++of a tortoiseshell comb, a bowl
of cherry stems, hearts stripped
	++of flesh. You can only see my spidersilk
		++++when it billows into the light.
I exist only as distant birdcalls
	++or the steam lifting off rivers at dawn.
		++++I rinse my mouth clean with mint tonic
and pink saltwater. I skim
	++the foam off of my family’s concern. 
		++++I shiver down to a cat’s pupil,
hunt myself into extinction. 
	++If only you could see me now,
		++++how fatally beautiful I’ve become.

Rita Feinstein is the author of the poetry chapbook Life on Dodge (Brain Mill Press, 2018). Her stories and poems have appeared in Permafrost, Grist, and Willow Springs, among other publications, and have been nominated for Best of the Net and Best New Poets. She is a graduate of Oregon State University’s MFA program.