Inch by inch she follows a stiff track
lie
on heaps of twigs like amputees
and
wait for her long claw to grab each stack
and
drop it log by log onto her back
a
basket full of raw limbs left to freeze.
Like
some old woman with a smoker’s hack,
top
heavy in sneakers, waddling out to squeeze
a
few last sticks of kindling from the rack
of
firewood in the snow behind her shack,
she
gathers precious leavings to appease
the
thaw and all upwakings by degrees.