By Kolbe Riney
I learn
how the body
moves
in disorder:
how the heart
sounds
when it is dry,
how the hip
hikes
when it is broken,
how the brain
speaks
when the pupils blow.
It is always you
I turn to
when I ask,
what wishbone
did I snap
to be so lucky,
to tell
the time
in months and years
and blood
and skin
and cracking teeth?
We lay together
this night
in a field
of year-rotating stars,
limbs tangled
in the constellations there;
you lift
your chin
to the sky,
and breathe,
just lucky,
I guess.
Kolbe Riney is a queer poet based in Tucson, Arizona. She graduated in 2021 with a B.S. in Nursing from Northern Arizona University. Her work is featured or forthcoming in Lunch Ticket, Passages North, the West Trade Review, and others. Learn more: https://kolberiney.wixsite.com/website