tonight
dogs worry their chains
she can still smell taste the raw cold steel of the gun barrel
the cherry grip handle, crosshatched, well oiled
tonight she tosses sage, cedar, sweetgrass and tobacco into the rubbish bin
forsaking all protection
the acrid taste of a backhand
copper rises in her mouth
brings her home, to
calloused hands, edge of the woods, unseen
where furled leaves turn black when no one sees
beneath the weight      

Published in Poetrybay July 2016