8.06 / June 2013

Two Poems


There is a place
in this field

where the rabbit
has been caught.

By a hound
and her rough lick.

The rabbit’s heart
became a circus

of sound.
And the hound could feel

the chest parade—
wanted to taste peanuts

in farmers pockets,
watch children leap

through hoops
and air.

Sleigh of Geese

For Sam

Let me wear your jacket for the longest time
after I cut my bangs too short
and pin a flower in your pocket.

I tell you if I could do anything
I would grow the longest arms
to scratch the moon because the moon
is my favorite mosquito bite

And you just stand and chew stand and chew
and I suddenly wish I had a sleigh of geese
to nip my ankles pink and make
the ground smell of half bitten apples.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a picnic in our geese’s shade.
As they huddle together like eggs in a carton,
lazy and watching
you tell me about the people we will grow into

Your breath
on my neck like a music
raising my arms into the air
like two skinny kites
searching for a gallop of wind.

Sarah Levine is from Boston, MA and received her MFA in Writing from Sarah Lawrence. Levine won Westchester Review's 2013 Writers Under 30 Poetry Contest, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and is the Poetry Editor for The Boiler Journal.
8.06 / June 2013