In the Woodpile

by Amy MacLennan

Not so much a heap of logs,
but a place to hide. And not for us,
but them. In the darkness
of December, we screak down
basement stairs to a skitter
of claws on cement, a shift
among the sticks. And we choose
only the wood on top, checking
beneath each branch
for trailing webs:
even rotten bark is suspect.
As we turn back to the steps,
we imagine our dearest
nightmares curling
on the cellar floor,
slinking toward a gap in the stack
to join their brothers
in the spaces we keep
for our fears. Nameless.

Amy MacLennan has been published or has work forthcoming in Hayden’s Ferry Review, River Styx, Pearl, Linebreak, Cimarron Review, Folio, and Rattle. Her poems are forthcoming in the anthologies Not a Muse from Haven Books and Eating Her Wedding Dress: A Collection of Clothing Poems from Ragged Sky Press.

Back to Issue Two: Winter 2009