Not bread crumbs —
dropped in forest
so dense it let in
daylight only
like a circling starfield —
but blood, wild
rose-pricked, sweat
on birch and pine,
the selves they shed
leading them out
of the darkness
they fled into.
Title here
Summary here
Not bread crumbs —
dropped in forest
so dense it let in
daylight only
like a circling starfield —
but blood, wild
rose-pricked, sweat
on birch and pine,
the selves they shed
leading them out
of the darkness
they fled into.
Amy Beveridge is a pediatric speech-language pathologist and graduate student in rhetoric and writing in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Her work is forthcoming in Abandoned Mine and has been published in Heron Tree and bosque.