Cold Cuts

Tonight, I heard
a surgeon whisper:

the things that live
inside us often spoil.

Flesh surrounds
what must decay,

so what to with
all who are sick?

In dreams, I’ve seen
the butcher sell pounds

of his own son to men
who prayed to be reborn

as knives, windows, still,
I will not know their hurt.

The body drains for days
before the marrow rivers away,

when hollow becomes holy,
but did I hear that from

the room next door, or somewhere
past these yawning hallways?

William Ward Butler is an undergraduate student at the University of California, Santa Cruz. He’s an editor for Chinquapin, the longest-running literary magazine at UCSC, and a poetry reader for The Adroit Journal. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in NightBlock, Glitterwolf Magazine, Catamaran Literary Reader, and Weave. Find him online at http://williamwardbutler.com.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.