I’ve always been a quiet girl,
a household kind of violence.
I will not eat from flat hands.
I will not curl around feet.
I will not drown in my own bloodied mouth.
When I touch myself, my fingers
salt and ginger.
Half a bird in my throat
writhes at the bottom of sleep.
Listen, the slight color of its breathing.
— “Mouthful of Quiet” in Natasha Kessler’s Dismantling the Rabbit Altar