Trees

still slick from the womb,
hooves soft, legs lank,

her foal nurses, next to blood,
afterbirth on the ground

wind, scent of rain, scent
of flesh, something above

her in the trees, shadows
move, claws on skin,

blood, teeth, eyes,
hair, spit, bone,

quiet, her foal
down, dead

years later, she won’t
go near the trees

white-grey scars
peeling pink underneath.





About the Author: Tawnysha Greene is currently a Ph.D. candidate in fiction writing at the University of Tennessee where she serves as the fiction editor for Grist: The Journal for Writers. Her work has appeared in various literary journals including Bellingham Review and Raleigh Review and is forthcoming in Cutthroat: A Journal of the Arts. She can be found online at tawnyshagreene.com.