I like rising quickly to feel

I like rising quickly to feel
the dizzy birthright of anyone
foolish enough to persist
on two legs. We think we
aren’t living like animals, but
see how we chew the news
like long grass, like we had all
the time in the field & nowhere
to be but here, our faces
turned down from the sky &
each other. The Romans knew
how a city can depend on its
geese & not the other way
around. The statue in Tokyo
for the dog & not the master
might be the culmination
of stone’s search for something
true. Similarly, I keep hoping
my son will have a tail or
remain covered in soft fur, that
I’ll love him as unfailingly as
the raccoons in the park. Like
an animal, I’ll love him so much
I’ll want to devour him—but
stop myself by saying words
instead & hoping they carry
enough water, which is to say
give him enough space to see
quiet the way we once saw night.
 
 
 
Rachel J. Bennett is the author of On Rand McNally’s World and the forthcoming Game, both from dancing girl press. Her poems have appeared in journals including Big Lucks, BOAAT, Bodega, Five Quarterly, inter|rupture, Pith, Really System, Salt Hill Journal, Rattle, Sixth Finch, and Vinyl Poetry. Featured in an art project of the European Space Agency and in the Poet of the Week segment through Brooklyn Poets, her poetry also appears in the Brooklyn Poets Anthology, from Brooklyn Arts Press, and PITH Year One, from Kin Press. She grew up on the Illinois-Iowa border, loves forests, and lives in New York City. Find her at www.racheljbennett.net.