Tag Archives: flesh of a kill

Forest

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

It’s where the snow lies
inside the beating heart;
the forest,
who speaks in voices
across the wind,
waiting for the conductor
to begin
its movement springward:

Where teeth tear open
the flesh of a kill,
wolfing it down in mouthfuls
before another comes
to claim it as its own—

Where mankind
has nailed her hindquarters
to a board.

In her anguish
and suffering
the forest
still presents us
with gifts
indescribable.

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry