Thrush Poetry Journal
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Heath Joseph Wooten
​

[                       ]
 
Sue watches the sun chase a rabbit
across the road. The last strands of summer remain
 
                                                                                    taut yet. Lately, Sue’s aim
                                                has been rough. Always in the heat,
 
            there’s a breakdown of the nexus
                        between hunter and hunted. In another life, the light
 
was less cocksure. Sue thought in that life, her fists
            were like peaches. Here, they are simply the stone. She wants to explain:
 
                                                                  the needle-certain path of the rabbit
                                    into the woods. The exact shade of red
 
                                                                                                   the moment an arrow
                                                                                    pierces flesh. The exact wedge of sun
 
that illuminates the wound. The misunderstanding
            of the twitching muscles. See—she had meant to hit the heart.   




Heath Joseph Wooten (he/him) is an MFA candidate at Northern Michigan University. He is the co-EIC of perhappened mag and reads poems and shorts at Passages North, and his favorite time of day is the end. You can find his work if you look hard enough.



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