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Siberian Fur

The metallic fang sinks
into your white, lined
hide; black venom staining
life on a rotting
shell, acorn’s mother, with
tattoo brands on your
Siberian fur.

Why must I struggle
with my spear, scratching
the tiny sound of
ruptured tree, of sap
pouring out to the
pump of a white
pine heartbeat.

Your daughter follows an
indistinct clone. I scar
and maim her deep
like you, but different
chains warp her soul
as I break limbs
and dispose.