Page 137 of Into the Heartless Wood
She forces my eyes to stay open,
forces me to watch
as she feeds their souls
into the heartless tree.
I cannot stop her.
I cannot do anything.
The earth swallows the bodies,
choked
with
bones.
At last my mother opens her fist,
and my song is cut off.
She leaves me pinned to the heartless tree.
Dew pours down my cheeks.
If Owen were here,
he would be ashamed of me.
If he were here,
I would ask him
to drive a knife
into
my
heart.
My sisters come to laugh at me.
I have rarely seen them all together.
They are a copse of monsters,
a strange garden blooming in their hair:
foxglove and aster and thistle,
nettles and celandine and daisies.
Last of all, my sister with roses in her hair.
She waits. She watches.
