*Not your average publishing company

A Child Made

I watch my fingertips skim his body:
wrists to shoulders, pectorals, throat.

From behind, I taste his ear. Like prey
sensing danger, hairs stand straight,

as if I am a predator—
my body, bait. Now 

I’m kneeling—a prayer
(I don’t remember 

getting dressed). I give unconditionally 
when there should be conditions.

I dream I am a child made
to butcher a doe. I weep 

as I gut her. I run a blade along 
an invisible seam. I peel away her hide.

Written by Ellen Orr. Ellen is a writer and teacher based in Texarkana, a city which straddles the border of Texas and Arkansas.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: