Issue 4 Cover_final_web Poecology

Issue 4

 

 
 

Amber L. Cook

 

Windeby Girl

 
 
We think on the she that staggers
blindly into the bog, cloth kept close to
her eyes, stretching to shun the passing
by, and what comes passing between
her toes at the water’s edge: wet mixed
with mud and the gush: the sucking down
and in and now she’s up to her ankles:
now she’s up to her knees. We think on
how she pressed into the peat: what mold
she made. Leg overlapped by leg: arm pressed
to the hip, arm pressed to the rib as if making
sure they’re all accounted for in the after,
as if making sure they’re all accounted for in
the now. And what the peat preserved: her
size and shape: some of her skin. We
think on how she was found: what splayed,
what severed from her body. It was bone and
flesh. It was bone and not-flesh: it was her,
halved. It was not the bog that gave her back,
but the hands hulling out: hungry to ask how
long.