Between the trees—Becki Hawkes

After they were finished 
they left me in the woods 

and there are only trees now: 
white birches owl brown grooves between 

each pathway out 
a passage further in 

some days 
I am so hungry I eat the scared things the velvet
skin the inquisitive mammalian skulls 

their outraged little hearts flicker 
against the roof of my mouth 
pulse in my gullet sleep in my acid 

floppy crops of mushrooms 
tug in all my torn holes bleed
weakly when I pluck them out 

and I am a hut 
on tensed yellow chicken feet 
an oven that yawns with bones 

other days 
I turn cunning snout out 
the cool forest berries 

splatter my rose and nipples 
with their juice 

let my lips grow fat 

them all back in: the lost prince 
the huntsman the handsome wolf 

most don’t make it 
and those that do 
say that they were lucky 

but there is no luck 
there is only me now 

scabbed and crowned in lichen 

only I decide

Becki Hawkes is a writer, communications worker and former arts journalist from London. She has had poems published in magazines including Ink Sweat and Tears and Trouvaille Review, and short plays performed in various small theatre locations.

photo by Elisa (via unsplash)