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The horned things knew
the scent of blood usurping sweet hay
as the woman cracked and sang.
The hooved things stamped
the soil, bleated while she moaned,
their rhythm of foot an ease to her splitting.
There was the quiver of oxen haunch,
the slight ripple of donkey hide
when the child slid into this world
of ovens and knives,
tethers and thorns,
their lowing lamenting
what every mother looses
From Blood to Fruit by Tayve Neese (David Robert Books, 2015). Copyright Tayve Neese.
Tayve Neese is the editor of Trio House Press and The Banyan Review.