Mojave Rattler
You remind me of
an animated mouse
singing to the moon
he charm-coiled in
our onset. i doubt
even a rattleboned
mojave rattler
would strike
such heartsore soft.
at first i believed
the blurry vision
weakened breathing
was stemming from
july nevada heat. but venom’s
seep strews tar slow and then
you’re swallowed whole. before
you know you’re slipping down
his oil forked tongue,
putty snared
in badlands.
‘Til he’s had his fill
—after Lucinda Williams
Oak homestead dream is
smithereens, shot by my
broad battalioned love
and — I’m shivering — in
winter moonveiled Gainesville.
He lied, barbed pretty
I believed. spread radiant
on sky blue sheets and
sloppily unbarred my warm
steel-armored rain while drinking
plain his numb, love-lethal whiskey.
Oakley Ayden (she/her) is an autistic, bisexual writer from North Carolina. Her poems appear in Ghost City Review, The Cabinet of Heed, Maw: Poetry Journal, Not Very Quiet, Blue Bottle Journal, and elsewhere. She lives in Los Angeles with her two children. Find her online at oakleyayden.com.