Lynn Woollacott is watching the coal fire

Slice
 
In the belly of the coal fire
sizzling amongst the red and orange flames
is a slice from a sheep shed
squared to the size of a piece of bread,
a pink liver shaken by an iron hand.
 
Just that afternoon her fingers had been teats
on which the school lamb suckled and
dribbled milk down his woolly bib, he
rolled his thick tongue and she dug
in a herbivore jaw and found a gold nugget,
she took the gold and carried it on her thumb.
 
The red square dribbles like a wound
as it’s placed on a white slab
and there’s no other dressing except
a second slab slapped on top.
The sharp point of the stab bleeds
with the last seesaw cut of a knife.



*Lynn Woollacott freelances teaching environmental studies where she is able pond dip, rummage amongst woodland insects and race crabs on the beach to her heart’s content. She has been published regularly in the small press magazines, including Poetry News and Featured Poet in Orbis.  ‘Slice’ is taken from her first collection Something and Nothing which has just been released from Indigo Dreams.

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