A Welcome to the Slaughterhouse in Which I Want to Shut the Door

The dark floor cast in old shadows crunches with salt
under heavy black boot.

Laces glint of silver. By the corner, rows of rotting teeth.
The door’s hinges left life-

less on the table, dotted with blood from the slaughter.
You are welcome

to come in. Ignore the ropes missing from the ceiling
and the rest that have nothing

left to hold. These windows—broken
open. Everyone can see inside

of the rooster’s wing after the knife runs
through like sailboat keel in water

or another unsent prayer. Through air, crawling
dust. Have I already taken

down the photo’s frame from my fourth
birthday? You can zip up

the leather luggage without looking
inside. On the wall:

rain stains but no more water. I
haven’t been here since

November in these woods
drained of tree sap.

I should leave, I know.
I’m sorry

you had to see this.

Rachael Lin Wheeler is currently a student attending Choate Rosemary Hall in Connecticut. Her poetry, fiction, and photography have been recognized by Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. She is also the founder and editor of Vox Viola Literary Magazine, an intersectional feminist online publication, which can be found at https://voxviola.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.