Jamison Crabtree
upturn the stones to draw out the night; flush the moon from out of the bushes;
Strangle me with your hair. Get close.
Now. Put your tongue somewhere
new. Remember by taste; you must―
because it was never a secret:
whatever you place in your mouth
will leave you. Your breath,
for example. For example, the mirror―
it fogs at the slightest threat of a kiss
and glares when it catches you, mid-stare,
from across any uncrowded room.
Take it (give it) for granted. Her heels
were slanted pink; dust swept
from the steppe of her thighs.
The mirror lets us watch the past,
the slight delay as light batters our skin. If you look,
do so kindly; what is there is what is gone.
Jamison Crabtree is a Black Mountain Institute Ph.D. fellow at the University of Nevada Las Vegas. His work can be found in
Hayden’s Ferry Review, Handsome, Colorado Review, DIAGRAM, and elsewhere.
Return to January 2014 Edition
Strangle me with your hair. Get close.
Now. Put your tongue somewhere
new. Remember by taste; you must―
because it was never a secret:
whatever you place in your mouth
will leave you. Your breath,
for example. For example, the mirror―
it fogs at the slightest threat of a kiss
and glares when it catches you, mid-stare,
from across any uncrowded room.
Take it (give it) for granted. Her heels
were slanted pink; dust swept
from the steppe of her thighs.
The mirror lets us watch the past,
the slight delay as light batters our skin. If you look,
do so kindly; what is there is what is gone.
Jamison Crabtree is a Black Mountain Institute Ph.D. fellow at the University of Nevada Las Vegas. His work can be found in
Hayden’s Ferry Review, Handsome, Colorado Review, DIAGRAM, and elsewhere.
Return to January 2014 Edition