one fight, i aimed my horns at my big sister’s stomach
& charged wind charging through my hair
like pipes suckling a rollercoaster & i wanted her fear
unbridled refocusing my handheld telescope
so she at the junction saw me & down the stairs
fell away so i twisted out of focus to whine & the recovery
mom allowed me to lather on her bed was marble
like lazarus the dog stillborn scooped up
no slither in the whelping box no pinch to the neck no oven
or the oven is overburdened no his life is a mystery to me.
of his thousand sisters i am only one or two rabid & a member
of the dog’s choir nickering my solo overstated.
as namesakes he & i nudge or slop when nudged, slopped, to prove
our reincarnation i ready my dumb mouth for a kiss & he dreams
& run-dreams one cheek billowing up his tooth which decays.
Alana Solin studied English and Creative Writing at Columbia University, where she edited for the undergraduate literary magazine 4X4. She hopes to apply for and complete an MFA in poetry. Currently she reads poetry submissions for the journal Nat. Brut, writes online poetry study guides, and works in a cafe. She was born in New York and grew up in New Jersey.