Ekphrasis This poem was inspired by The Garden of Earthly Delights and day six of NaPoWritMo . I pick up the saw, fashioned to cut bark and wood, not flesh and bone. Yet it slices through my flesh and cleaves by bone-- until finally the scorched foot is extinguished. I pause for relief. But tendrils of flame worm into me, wriggling through my veins, squirming into my organs. My bones contort; my fevered brain recoils. I again pick up the saw.
Reflections on language, learning, and loss in paltry poetry and prose