Wood-Woman’s Music

Kimberlee Rettberg

With gaping mouth
The never-ending breath
Of woman-wind, woman-sky;
The clouds may grow dark with her,
But you can always get in
Between the splayed root legs.

The sound of being hollow;
Call it woodsy, or call it tone–
Wood-wind, wood-wound,
The woman-gut gets sticky
Feels its gales coursing through.

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Illustration by Kimberlee Rettberg