I itch for repetition, superstition. Bury
the cow horn even if it seems silly. Let’s combine
our rot tonight, grow warm under our surface. Let’s be
amalgamation, I’ll collect the calcium from the eggshell
if you’ll cover the carbon from the maple leaves. We know
where magic lives, we’ve heard the tree root whisper. We’re made
to hold: a kind womb, a sweet placenta. When we’ve
decomposed ourselves new, let’s give it up again. I want
to be cyclical, I want to be your year after year after year—
SARAH BROCKHAUS is a creative writing student at Salisbury University. Her poems can be found in Sugar House Review, New South, Roanoke Review, The Shore, Broadkill Review, and others.