in the bottom of my gut is a bowl full of hair. in the back of my garden, your bones. one-by-one I open every book on the shelf & each page that I turn to says RUN, GIRL. I don’t think it means what I think it means. little bullet, I buried you for a reason. little deathbone, I buried you so that I wouldn’t starve. when I buried you, the house was on fire. all that digging brought a glow to my cheeks. little dogtooth, you need to stay where you’re planted. I like the way you’ve gotten rid of the sun.
Maggie Woodward is an MFA candidate in poetry at the University of Mississippi, where she is senior editor of the Yalobusha Review, curates the Trobar Ric Reading Series, and is a programmer for the Oxford Film Festival. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming from Axolotl Magazine, inferior planets, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, The Atlas Review, and Devil's Lake, among others. You can find her online at maggie-woodward.com.