by Rachael Crosbie
- On Guarantees
You knew this as a version of yourself. When whiskey
drove you past shale where sun did not touch—
eyes exposed, dry, wide. When you brought a match
to the bonfire that would amount to embers.
You stayed out there alone, unfeeling.
Shades of ash haloed your eyes—
fixated on intangible hollowness
you think you’ll find in these mountains
that are only mountains.
Whispers of static sheathed the dead spot
you reached, and a shock black spread
in the sky, powdered by gunshots blazing
through those too young to know the smoke.
- On Purification
You lit frankincense for dreams or nightmares
when you slept—your blouse slashed with raw earth
and charcoal shadows from the outside peering in.
You never slept, staring at it still lit in the morning,
smoldering a smooth rope of smoke that stretched
to your window—to a primal white sky, wheeling on.
This shot your nerves
while the burning fuse pointed to you.
- On Purification
On the patio deck, you straddled a tiki torch
to light your makeshift roll of tobacco leaves.
Slurring it’s not a cigarette. Heavy with rain,
gravity and cold winds swayed with you.
A bartender pulled you from the torch,
but between your fingers,
you held a wavering fire.
- On Guarantees
Drunk on rum & coke, cobalt lights sliced
across slippery leaves on a pineapple for a split second—
the bass or an earthquake rippled the floor and your skin.
At home, you stumbled over the litter box,
small grains vanishing in the yellow yarn rug.
Your calico scowled from underneath
the sink. Later, she lay on your lap, wiping your eyes.
Vision glistening, you wiped your hand
on a patch of ginger fur,
now marked by leopard spots of wet black.
- On Persistence
You didn’t mean it—not all of it.
Rachael Crosbie is the Editor-in-Chief & Founder of the winnow. She was recently published in Pussy Magic, Lucky Pierre Zine, and others. Above all, she loves dissecting horror films with her fiancé, reading poetry and literary theories, and hugging dogs.
Emerge Literary Journal 