Featured: Sugar Maple

Listen to the poem here:

 

I stood splayed, mute, leafless, trying to root
in a fallow sky. Underneath, he tapped
me dry. At first I welcomed the slow plunge
and twist, my amber juices flowing toward
the wound like spring. When I gave out he bored
again. He used no bucket, just his tongue
lapping, then thrust up the spouts, hard, as sap
drew back into its freeze. My residue
smeared across his mouth and chin, the sweet grains
in sticky clots off which, stubborn, he still
tried to feed. And if I lived, he would kill
me with these appetites. And so I died,
or seemed to, a blood-crusted, dormant bride
with unborn leaves that moved inside like flame.

 

RedfernErin Redfern serves on the board of the Poetry Center San Jose and as an editor for its print publication, Caesura. Her recent poems in Blue Lyra Review and Crab Fat Literary Magazine have been nominated for Best of the Net 2015. www.erinredfern.net