Polaris

by Brigitta McKeever

slit through the
belly and you will find
hot air, slippery fat, rabbit bones,
a beer belch swallowed.
ask him what he has done,
and he will say  /  nothing.

flush out the acid 
and you will see what it has
ravaged. what remains of the forest
is its rot; of its birds, a feather.
ask him what can be done,
and he will say  /  nothing.

break open the chest
if you desire gold, oil, bleach.
let it smother you and see how
your skin blisters, your eyes turn
to dust, the rib cages nothing. 
ask him what he has gained,
and he will say  /  everything.
                                                           (            )

burrow into his palm and
drain your milk; the North Star
thrashes in his paper folds. 
let it blind you and you will see
the narrow skull of a boy, his
hollow cheeks ruddy, the bullet 
between his eyes bleeding light.
ask him what he regrets, 
and he will say  /