The Woods

Illustration by Anna Russell

The Feel of baked earth Of ice shattered off - Glass - no time to thaw - to leak Or dried branches that crack, Like bones beneath my feet. In a forest In a lone walk path Down into darkness Of thorns that circle Skirts of trees Say don’t come in Back off My property. But then I take it - illicit rose - And spread it like morning butter Mourning what is not mine to Give What I never had But which burns In my mind Like a hot sun gluing itself To fast shut eyes. Inside, baked earth, promising to crack Bake me Take me And I might be forgiven.