Splitting the Night by Rachel Malis

As it falls, the rain is a knife for vision
& it does not exclude us,
stripping the shafts of my hairs,
my fingernails from their beds.

We try to sleep to distract ourselves
but before falling off, I picture
parts inside of me peeling away:
my ribs pulling back from their lungs,
blood from the veins, water from that blood.
He said, look at me & it was impossible,
my eyes seeing the brick & trees in infinite pieces,
the blackness boxing itself up behind him,
taking the roofs and the windows with it,
all of this—how could I look.

The night has become clear,
but still something is falling—
which made me wonder
what he thought of my eyes,
why he needed me to face him,
& if it matters
who does the tearing down.

Rachel Malis

I currently live in Washington, DC with my fiancé and two strange cats. I have my masters in fine arts (in poetry) from Arizona State University. It was a really trippy, dusty, desert ride but it got me these poems (and a lot of other things). By day I’m in disguise as a fundraiser for a nonprofit and I sell knits on etsy. I pride myself in being one of the only poets in the world who wears a watch.