Poem by Marc D. Goldfinger

Illustration by James Conant



Splitting Wood In Hell

The things God cannot put
right have always come back
to me. When the piece of wood
split and fell on the toad

squeezing its internal organs
out through the gaping mouth
it continued to hop
towards me, its hot eyes

staring directly into mine.
I learned that morning eyes
can scream. Squeamishly, I took
a stick and tried to push

the insides outside back
into the toad. The eyes,
the eyes, the eyes never
ceased as the stick busted

the fragile organs would not
fit down the narrow throat
of the toad. I flipped
the maul over to sledge hammer

and prayed that toad into the ground.
My stomach twists, wrenches when
I dream about those eyes. I am
ready to have my mind revoked.