by Francesca Leader

CW: Suggestions of self-harm/family violence

Recrank
the hot water knob
four times,       five.
You’ve been hiding
too long, but
can’t stop,
picking
soaked      scabs
of blood      sap
from your back,
like a bear-scarred aspen
in your childhood woods,
thinking how you’ve
become
both trunk
& claw,
self-inflictive,
never healed,
still mostly       you,
but partly him, too—
that    bear,
downstairs,
who’s roaring at your
children again.
Who will not stop,
sweet though you       plead,
long immune to your honey.
So you stay, door locked,
in warm              water,
dig ever deeper
the claw-nails
peel &             flay,
discard raw flesh
as floating bark flakes,
dredge deeper still
through cambium
& sapwood,
to forget how long
it always             takes
for him
to tire & lumber
back to his       cave
to sleep,
fat       on the pain
of those who love
& loved him,
dreaming of
      cubhood,
as you reach the
      heartwood,
& know
you’ve harmed yourself
beyond repair.

Francesca Leader’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in One Art, Abyss & Apex, Broadkill Review, Identity Theory, The Storms, and elsewhere. Her poems have been nominated for Best of the Net (2025) and Best Spiritual Literature (2025). Her debut poetry chapbook, Like Wine or Like Pain, is available from Bottlecap Press. Find her on X and IG at @moon.in.a.bucket, or on Bluesky at @mooninabucket.bsky.social.