Page 67 of Into the Heartless Wood
toward
his
death.
I cross
the distance between us
in four pulses
of my heart.
I crash into him,
knock him to the ground.
He screams and thrashes.
The music inside of him
robs him of his will.
He
is
not
himself.
I throw my body on top of his.
I sing a command to the wood.
Living branches grow from the forest floor,
winding overtop of us,
shielding us from sight.
But they do not silence
my sisters’ song.
He fights me, fights me.
I am stronger.
I hold him down.
I press my hands
over his ears.
Still he struggles,
though I can see
