Claim

a desert storm brews in the crook of my elbow
where creosote wind hovers over the head of a snake
marked black and open-mouthed in the crease, proof I
have not forgotten how to bend
a familiar rattle buzzes below mesquite and bone
between slate and flesh
men call it warning
the song of my body calls it womanhood
try me, she shivers and, after some time,
no one …