I turn
the television
from the snowstorm
of the receiver
to the storm
of Buffy, slaying
creatures of the night
in a blizzard
of limbs—
demons, wolves, blood-
drinkers in the dark,
exploding into powder,
ashes, silver flashes
of glitter.
Imagine it happened here:
I would ask her
if she ever finds the glimmer
in strange places,
like her underwear,
the knife-divide
of her scalp,
the tissues
when she sneezes.
Imagine it happened to me,
by your hand.
It would be
a confetti-form
of gifts,
my salvation
at the stake,
your fingers brushing
the bursting
hole of my chest.
After, I’d imagine you
trudging home,
beating
your boots against the eaves
like a dusty heart,
leaving them to collapse
in a pile
at the door, the film
of my ash
still clinging
to the soles.
Kolbe Riney is a queer poet and registered nurse from Tucson, Arizona. Their work is featured or forthcoming in Lunch Ticket, Passages North, Rougarou, Watershed Review, and others. They have been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology and their manuscript, “mythic” was longlisted for the 2021 Sexton Prize. Learn more: https://kolberiney.wixsite.com/website.