Drawn, uninvited, I'm an animal with a price on her head,


wrecking a bed of wet pine: I steal through the field twice:


as long as the day is a shot yard of light, let me scope you,


darling on a notch, lonely eye painted red in the low dark


marking me. Stalked, my body's a dictionary of only chances.


A dame is what's fantastic, alter dam who never had to do


without. A dress is good to lift. Hard twang, dumb arch,


one body here knows well: a quiver is a dream of being held


about the middle by a mouth of handsome leather.  Abetted


and moving mark, needle moved: let fly. I hound my own


neck these days, but spring means something with a wing


-span so dark as my dark hurtles past itself, as you do. If you


could take wing, shake the hand, would--? Little quarrel, listen.


A kill is what the heart calls its instrument hurrying on home.


Lo Kwa Mei-en grew up in Singapore and Ohio. She lives and works in Columbus, where she is graduating from Ohio State University's MFA program in Creative Writing. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Ninth Letter, Crazyhorse, Guernica, The Kenyon Review, New Orleans Review, Gulf Coast, and other journals.