Meat Market
by and published in Edition Two of Pomegranate
It travelled in a crate which smelled like blood
in the heat the wood began to splinter
its fibres recoiling from the meat.
when the truck stopped
in another dusty country
the wooden box was cracked open like a body
propped up against a table
and the people passing could reach their hands in
and touch the soft ripe redness
run their fingers over the fat and the damp brown package
which held the loose meat together
the flies draw threads of jade wing in the air
above the stall
tasting the gore and the anticipation of rot
and the people pay in silver coins
wipe the sweat from their brows with smeared fingers
and move away through the hazy square
through the hot jostle
out into the humming of the sand.
Martha Sprackland
Martha Sprackland has been writing for more than ten years, and was twice a winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award. She is (finally) about to graduate from Lancaster University where she reads English Literature and Creative Writing. She has had her work published in Iota, Brittle Star, Agenda, Magma and the Cadaverine, and is editor of Cake magazine.