when I was born
my hair was all white
when it turned brown
it was grabbed and was
used to attack me. a
rabbit jumps up and
he keeps floating
upwards. the tooth
I am missing is put
gently back into
my mouth. it’s easy
each month I scorch
my hair like I am
starting a mercury
lantern. like I am
burning the shape
of a rooster onto the
side of a barn. when
I open my mouth I
see the chemicals
that have been used to
arrange me. Neatly in
Identical rows.
oxytocin cortisol
dopamine when I
touch my hair
my hair turns
to paper my
skin turns back to
the skin of a rabbit
I want you
to know that
I could bite
through gold
If I wanted to
If I wanted to
I could say
what’s been
done.
David Freeman is a poet and playwright from Long Lake, MN. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Kenyon Review Online, Prairie Schooner, The Massachusetts Review, and others. He is the recipient of the Nicholas Meyer Award for Dramatic Writing and the Tennessee Williams Award for Playwriting. He currently lives in Chicago, IL. More information about his work can be found at www.davidefreeman.com.