Insist on reaching, into thorns to blow
off ants, or wind your fingers around webs,
beads of raindrops run together in slow
succession, an edging down anchor threads:
would you believe me if I told you: night
comes piercing in like antelope horn, right
in and out the midsection, bearing all
but head. She left you— a nearby gully
swaddled you with yucca leaves and petal.
Baby’s breath, as they sometimes call it, ugly
with fly egg sacs is sometimes used to line
diapers: it masks the smell of sin & urine.
Tacey M. Atsitty, Diné (Navajo), is Tsénahabiłnii (Sleep Rock People) and born for Ta’neeszahnii (Tangle People). She was born in Logan, UT, grew up in Kirtland, NM but is originally from Cove, AZ. She is a recipient of the Truman Capote Creative Writing Fellowship, the Corson-Browning Poetry Prize, Morning Star Creative Writing Award, and the Philip Freund Prize. Her first book is Rain Scald (University of New Mexico Press, 2018).
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This article appeared in the print edition of the magazine with the headline Déélgééd, the Horned Monster.
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