Hestia

I have no voice
but fire
crackling in the hearth.

Crickets sing
louder
than I, mice

scurrying in walls
have more
presence than my

veiled face.
Smoke
in the chimney,

I am barely
seen, sniffed
only in the scent

of roasting meat,
echo of goats
bleating in the meadow

before the axe
breaks flesh
and smashes bone

and the knife
yields up
all the succulent blood.

[Steve Klepetar’s work has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Flutter Press has recently published two chapbooks: My Father Teaches Me a Magic Word and My Father Had Another Eye.]

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