coyote

a prairie or brush feathered tail curls
beneath a slouch into the bush

her fulvus belly is full of blood

she’s been eating cats and casting glares
that penny the night with wishful gleams

she has no positive press like the wolf

but when hispid bristles of fur flurry
against wind and thorn

I search the silt for a battered braincase
like some sort of sleuth sussing

surprises skulled with fleece

a desert heirloom of bone bleached
or rooted in loam I find a spine

cinerous and cuddling earth

the skilled saggital crest of an outsider
who yipped the den’s night growl

with hips hinged to congregations
clustered against her jaw

and bristling stars

Rebbecca Brown is the author of the novel They Become Her (What Books Press 2014) and the lyrical prose collection Mouth Trap (Arc Pair Press 2018). Her work has appeared in print and online journals such as American Literary Review, Confrontation, Requited, Masque and Spectacle, Eclipse, The Turnip Truck(s) and Miracle Monocle (among others). She currently lives in Los Angeles and teaches in the College of Creative Studies at UCSB.