about the river inside it. reach out
fill a jam jar with birdblood
wings. wrap your wrists in marrow,
oh blood of Christ, poured
girl who leaves a curl of dirt
eldest daughter, you are an omen
of jackals. the firstborn feels love
screaming. she’s been shot in the gut
the dark of the earth
woodlark, glass filled with rancid
blasphemy. she was born
cone child, she brushed her hair
she wants the burn of her limbs
into bullet. she was born
spoken first. say it. say it.
Maggie Woodward is an MFA candidate in Poetry at the University of Mississippi. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming from Rust + Moth, Sugared Water Magazine, Kenning Poetry Journal, Poemeleon, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter @maggie_eliz.