1

It’s in the eye, 
guiding blade to slice gristle, bone, salvage muscle, meat. 
Blood sweats from the cut.

Practiced, I knew how to leave.

2

Root vegetable yanked, grit sustenance.
I ate you, famished. 

Now, I cleave— 
a curled blossom
in the palm of your body.

Heidi Seaborn started writing poetry in 2016. Since then, her work
has appeared in over 40 journals and anthologies, including
Nimrod International Journal (2017 Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry
semi-finalist), The New Guard (2017 Knightville Prize semi-finalist),
Timberline, Gravel (Best of Net nominee), The American Journal of
Poetry, the political pamphlet Body Politic (Mount Analogue Press),
on a Seattle bus, and in her forthcoming chapbook Finding My
Way Home (Finishing Line Press). She is on the editorial staff of
The Adroit Journal and lives in Seattle. www.heidiseabornpoet.com