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Contents Page: Jan 1, 2012, vol 7 no 4

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Claire Everett


The Saw's Teeth

The clock stopped. Lightning-struck, this living timepiece. And so, eventually, they came with a chainsaw to slice the stump close to the ground, sparks flying, teeth on edge, as metal struck stone. Next, the slow assault. Insidious. Water and fertilizer, high in nitrogen, to soak the roots and hasten the natural rotting process. All under the cover of darkness, or at least, a tarpaulin. Then came the mattock, broad end wielded to hack around the stump, the axe end utilized to dig at the extremities, locating the taproot. Felt in my bones, the creak and crack of resistance, the shards of struggle, firesteel in bitter cold. And still, the refusal to budge, to slacken this futile grasp on time. So they come with a stump grinder.

splintered moon…
the hole where my molar
used to be


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