SurfSun By Rachel Mindell

  Khánh Hmoong Flickr CC



​SurfSun
 
Searching out an early obsession to test the wiring and yes, intact. Jealousy 
functioning on spec this evening. Pictures of a wedding, kissingthenana, 
vacation waterfall. Off the edge, do you see the air fall with you? 

She’s still beautiful, the partner, beautiful enough. Even if a surgelacks 
old power, needing to feel it bows me years down to a kitchen floor,
high and pushingthebatteriesfor outage. She liked to be hit, choked 

during sex I know becausehetoldme. It’s not warmth that defines a desert 
I know because my throat as well. Searching Peter’s name next on the internet, 
check him for dead or jailagain. Can’t remember since when this habit but probably 

even with himthere. Before that, bracing. Her name it’s been so long as to seem 
rare butreally. In a hurricane, wind never reaches the storm’s gut. I let him chop my 
hair age 26, shaved a strip into my groin becauseporn and pulsed in the center to wait 

for it. Roofsliftingoff. New years age 31 a forgotten twenty of blow in my jacket 
like mana. Tonight, in huntingher, Marisol is gravity again making the sand fly.



Rachel Mindell lives in Tucson, Arizona. She is the author of Like a Teardrop and a Bullet (Dancing Girl Press), and her poems have appeared (or will) in Pool, DIAGRAM, Bombay Gin, BOAAT, Forklift, Ohio, Glass Poetry, The Journal, Sundog Lit, Tammy, and elsewhere. Rachel holds an MFA and MA from the University of Montana. She manages content and promotions for Submittable, and teaches poetry to young people.