By Kate Levin


Bring me the bowl so I can spit:
wild venom, woman at the stake, sweet
kindling. Hard hands, all that wind.

I think about my grandmother, lace
and ribbon, saccharine and secret
like a box of marzipan. Those strange
glances between rooms, moonlight burning
a hole in the Turkish rug.

I was born between the legs of fire.

I move too quickly, white porcelain crushed
under the heart of me.
I think of my mother, alone in this world.

The baby and always the sunrise.

Bring me the fur so I can sit:
feed the familiar, legs outstretched,
breasts heavy.
What a curse, this beauty
that won’t



Self-professed crazy cat lady and black coffee addict, Kate Levin graduated from UNC with a degree in English Literature. Her poetry has been featured in several student publications, most notably The Crucible. She is the first-place finalist of the 2016 Rosenberry Writer Awards in poetry and the winner of the Rosenberry Prize for her poem, “When Mourning Comes.” She is also the author of her self-published poetry chapbook, Letters to the Wind.


Liked it? Take a second to support Suspect Press on Patreon!

Leave a Reply