by Carly Joy Miller
He cannot shut his eyes to the dark
machine of the world. I cannot release
my hips from the holy grip hoisting me up
or pulling low. Not his hands, this man
beside me. Little stranger, tender as a bride.
No. This man marks me with his mouth.
Animal how he moves toward the din
of hunger. Devourment, a dedication.
Carly Joy Miller is the author of Ceremonial (Orison Books, 2018), selected by Carl Phillips as the winner of the 2017 Orison Poetry Prize, and the chapbook Like a Beast (Anhinga Press, 2017), winner of the 2016 Rick Campbell Chapbook Prize. Her work has appeared in The Adroit Journal, Blackbird, Boston Review, Gulf Coast, West Branch and elsewhere. She is a contributing editor for Poetry International and a founding editor of Locked Horn Press.