Bloodwood

Bloodwood

Lining up the wood on the block

he’s a decent size, matured, a pale shade.

The axe swings her high arc, wedges silver

into the centre. He rocks open, his ant-black

heart dribbles pincers onto her feet, shock

shakes them off. Later in the fuel stove

his wine sap heats and hisses his defeat.

First published in Voiceworks, no. 83, Summer 2010-2011.

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