Quinn White

The butcher’s shop was in the hospital

where, headed to my MRI,

I wondered why that white, psychic tunnel

made earplugs and mantras

helpful, seals within seals

secure, when I turned

into a corner where skinned calves stood, blinking.

Others were in process, ripping.


I figure you’re the MRI machine:

reading me positive.

The blinking eyeball: what must remain,

and my being too

poor to adopt a calf, forced to choose

a cheerful, intact chicken surely is

worst-case for shops in

dream hospital hallways.


to rescue the skinned, blinking animal,

I figure means answers


space station far and stripped

of gravity’s hairy husk.

About the Work

Quinn White

Quinn White teaches English at the University of Montevallo, where she also received her MA in English literature. Her poetry has been published in The Straddler, Aura, and The Tower. This fall she will begin working on her MFA in poetry at Virginia Tech.

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