Butcher’s Daughter

Hailey Andrews

The first day of work you plunged a knife 
into your thigh. This was accidental, you said, 
a case of mistaken identity. Blood clotted like sap, 
slowed by the cold of the meat freezer.
Reckless and dizzy, you applied Super Glue 
to the parted edges as you finished out your shift. 
17 and stealing cars and shit, according to mom, 
stubborn and scared body without sleep, speed freak. 
Skin puckered and eager for edge. The smell of stale blood
followed you home, but there was always a parcel in hand,
meat from work, packaged like a gift. 
And I would say, I could never do that.

Hailey Andrews is a student at Yale University.

ABOUT THE ART | Why Don’t You Write? Series by Anonymous, 2022.