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    Wood

     

    by Hadara Bar-Nadav

     

     

    The sex of your wild

    black knot.

     

    Maple whorl.

     

    Molasses flame

    crusting through pores.

     

    Pitted. Weathered.

     

    A brief season

    until you hunch

     

    and split, bored,

    bow-legged.

     

    Who will build

    a house for you,

     

    a chest for your

    hardening heart?

     

    Wrung by years

    and rope swings,

     

    inhalation

    of the finest papercuts,

     

    blooms of smoke.

     

    You waver between

    burning and blue—

     

                  half buried

                  in this earth,

     

                  half in and out

                  of hell.

     

    Sentinel who sways

    herself to sleep.

     

     

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