She lives on a moor in the north.
She lives alone.
Spring opens like a blade there.

— Anne Carson, from The Glass Essay; She

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Their faces I thought were knives.
The way they pointed them at me.
And waited.
A hunter is someone who listens.
So hard to his prey it pulls the weapon.
Out of his hand and impales.
Itself.

— Anne Carson, “Town of the Sound of a Twig Breaking” from The Life of Towns