Desire

He looked at me from across the room
and I looked back. Impish, alive: black
candy eyes following my every move.
It was 113 degrees—Death Valley, 1994.
I wanted to know what it felt like
to be hunted. The rest stop smelled
like ghosts and gasoline. In the van,
my back legs stuck to the backseat
and I peeled stories from my skin.
The casino was hours away, or maybe
it was never there at all. I was small.
Gave into desire fast and won. That year,
an earthquake shattered every mirror
in the house and I laughed and laughed
as my face split down the middle.
Stuck my tongue all the way out
and felt proud. I liked dead animals
and kidnapped girls and shark attacks.
I liked how the jackalope looked mounted
on the wall. I didn’t care that he wasn’t real.

A childhood memory

The house is never clean
enough, and neither am I.
In a low whisper at recess,
my Catholic best friend
tells me she was forced
to kneel on rice at church
for having impure thoughts.
The next time I get sent
to my room, I crawl
into my closet naked
and turn off all the lights.
The rug weave makes my
knees both numb and raw.
I huddle there, in the dark,
pretending someone loves me
enough to show me the way
back to God.

When I was a girl, the La Brea tar pits told me

even those with wings aren’t free.
We are hungry animals, stolen
in time. Death after death,
our wildness the eternal now.
A mother sinks, her mouth
a frozen scream. The babies
forced to watch.

I buried that black hole
inside me—salty lips,
hands wet with want.
Sunk into my own hot tar,
the dark mess a magnet,
a rotting altar, where the
fiercest predators kneel
in rapture.

Hannah Levy is a writer and editor living in Northern California. She has been published in Variant Literature, Sunday Mornings at the River, Indie Earth Publishing, Rhizo Magazine, Penumbra Online, and elsewhere. She's also the editor-in-chief of The Rebis, an annual literary anthology that celebrates tarot, art, and creative writing. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s hiking in the redwoods, horseback riding, and playing extensive make-believe games with her daughter.