Sarah Escue
—
Afterbirth
maiden mare rib-thin falls
asleep standing in the river
her ligaments soften & unspool
she pulls pebbles from their muddy beds
breaks them with her teeth
like water she remembers
everything holds on to nothing
pearly membranes rupture
aflood with pink-bellied fish the river tantrums
hemorrhages on rock-hips
mare bites the blood-cord swallows it as a prayer rots between her teeth
the body always intervenes
hungry
emerging through pines
in the hot stink of night—
an archive of longing
from Utterances
thaw {v. THô}
speech dissolves
within a lost after-
noon
turnip roots untwist twist untwist
rush of blue cold
rush of [
]
constellation drawn by the hush
of skin on skin
—dark chorus
wintered by ruin
wolf {n. woo lf}
your hunger is specific
tongue to teeth to lips
in snow bloody paw prints.
a boy yells timber
a boy yells
timber a boy yells
timber
Abby Johnson is a poet and a Hoosier who is proud of the local art scene that fostered her. She is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing through Butler University. She is interested in the effect of Middle America on the voices of those who live there. She is previously unpublished.
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