Saara Myrene Raappana

You're a trigger finger dug into the starting gun,

the smack as it fires, the tense stroke of hooves

pressing into a fresh track. You're the curiosity

of a flashbulb nibbling air, tricky camera lens

grabbing a mane as it quivers back. I'm a rising

overture of thighs. I'm dirt exploding midair…

New husband, I have no

faithfulness to spoon into

our morning coffee,

and our evenings

are predictable as

the instars of caterpillars.

You snore, offer nothing…