tick-bitten, thistle-tongued
she comes like hunger
hung on a rib. a cradle graven,
a sloe crib in covert scrub,
cowering. haunch worn and winter-pinched,
horn-toed and hackle-flecked,
she waits, ticking.
a risk. raven-eyed, a mother’s need
for flesh. the gate swings open at will,
and open, gapes.
at eight, latched again, it clicks.
count the furrows famished deep,
feel a vigil, limp unseen;
she waits, ticking.
there are not crows enough for this field;
there are no cards left to receive,
no gifts to give.
the gate swings open,
ticks. the milky trees lapped
by a lean moon are motioned still.
closer than the window cracked,
cream-teethed and humus-sweet,
she breathes steaming, rocks
the bough. composed: all-supposing.
starved of meat and marrow
until the tock stops, cradle breaks.
Home.
she comes like hunger
hung on a rib. a cradle graven,
a sloe crib in covert scrub,
cowering. haunch worn and winter-pinched,
horn-toed and hackle-flecked,
she waits, ticking.
a risk. raven-eyed, a mother’s need
for flesh. the gate swings open at will,
and open, gapes.
at eight, latched again, it clicks.
count the furrows famished deep,
feel a vigil, limp unseen;
she waits, ticking.
there are not crows enough for this field;
there are no cards left to receive,
no gifts to give.
the gate swings open,
ticks. the milky trees lapped
by a lean moon are motioned still.
closer than the window cracked,
cream-teethed and humus-sweet,
she breathes steaming, rocks
the bough. composed: all-supposing.
starved of meat and marrow
until the tock stops, cradle breaks.
Home.