Lane Falcon

Dear K.

So much sun in me then,
freshly marooned, my little boat

still whole but for the crack that brought
the ocean in. I made a whetting stone of coral,

a spear from an ore, a lure of my cross.
I once cooked barracuda

over fire fed by hog bones; now, I scavenge
for lumps of sandy cartilage, drinking

from a stem a cutworm fell. No one to see
me crony-up to death ... is a blessing, right? As sun

crimps my skin and limbs become
a broken crib, I don't want a witness. Supine

in the perforated tent of night, light
watches through pinpricks. I don't need

a witness.

Lane Falcon recently received her MFA in poetry from Sarah Lawrence College. Her work has been published in 2River View, 42opus, Holly Rose Review, SOFTBLOW, and elsewhere. contact