Swelled into the white plush
of a unicorn suit, the stranger asks if they might
come say hi, their words,
to my brother’s puppy in the takeout line.
He gets this a lot: some passing face
gone rapture-blank at the sight of his sleek
dark head and enormous paws, some nostalgic
softness undoing them like song.
The unicorn kneels, croons, sighs to his velvet
ears, he looks just like, and Mink
quivers to be met, joggles his torso
like a thrilled ant on a mission. Unicorn,
Cory, Robin, Mink, who sniffs the air
where he’s been caught and released again
from fugitive devotion, bye, little dude, all named
after something invisible enough for naming
with. There are moments when I flinch to think
of what I haven’t yet lost. What we
haven’t, if I may bring
you into this.
Robin Myers reads “All Hallows”
Robin Myers is a poet and translator based in Mexico City. Her latest translations include Copy by Dolores Dorantes (Wave Books), The Dream of Every Cell by Maricela Guerrero (Cardboard House Press), Tonight: The Great Earthquake by Leonardo Teja (PANK Books), and The Book of Explanations by Tedi López Mills (Deep Vellum Publishing).