about a slaughtering by Kell Renegar

moaning up like something pained, she sobs.

mother earth,

her swollen body a cradle for the rain.

water comes pouring down in bucketfuls fill the cracks of her skin.

makes a pathway,

a soggy and trodden thing to guide the way.

you sludge and sludder along with your sopping coat and soggy cigarette.

down you go, they say.

down to the abattoir

where they’ll make meat of your careful wrappings

and grind you into something new.

in the distance, buzzsaws scream against the rain.

earth mother and her mud stick to your feet, your hem

cool and thick.

your bones are nice and warm inside their own meat jacket,

which is soon to be discarded

and left to rot in the oikumene.

smokestacks up and to your left pump out the stuff.

wooden chimes outside their doors clack hollow while metal inside screeches.

down you go, they say.

down you go to the abattoir.

where they’ll take the screws out from your jaw so you can

open up and

finally, swallow your own tail whole.

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“To ‘trash’ this piece broke my heart a bit. It was rejected by every lit mag it has been submit to since first writing it in 2020. I’m quite happy with this poem not because I think it’s my best work but because it captures a vulnerable time in my life. I wrote this poem for myself and only myself, not trying to meet guidelines or make it easy to understand; my goal was expression. And I will keep working to find a home for this little weird poem.”

Kell Renegar is a New Jersey based writer who works in poetry, prose, and flash-fiction. Inspired by Gothic literature, her work often includes elements of nature, dark emotions, and the occult. You can find them on Twitter @Kellrenegar.