NEW YORK IS A DEEP FREEZER

each year peeled, hung in the locker.

More than the briny undercurrent

at the river’s mouth, I let it

barb me, toes first. Calcify ankles,

calves, trunk, lips. When I cracked

it, the storage room freezer leaked

gentle hums, I found celestial. Who would

not remember thrill in the first choking

loss of air leaning towards a frozen wind?

I will not lie. Suspension sought, I practiced

dipping each limb. Minutes swollen

against the waves, each surge

a shock up ribs, up breast, underside

of arms. Pickle me at twenty-five, thirty-six,

at forty-one. Let the salt collect.

But even there, mold finds the lemons

baiting them for the soil. My crazing, I will

not call thaw, not siren song, just a steady thrum

against my burr. From my hook, I quaked

to keep the friction, to tease the grain

rough, force a blister. A tender pulpy skin.

Cathlin Noonan (she/her) is an MFA candidate at Texas State University, Assistant Poetry Editor for The Night Heron Barks and Associate Editor for Ran Off With the Star Basson. She was longlisted for the 2020 Frontier Award for New Poets and named a runner up in Sweet Lit’s 2021 Poetry Contest. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in The Banyan Review, The Broadkill Review, Sweet Lit and elsewhere.