First Fire by Wilda Morris

Maybe rain was comingin torrents, or snowpiled up outside the meagerlean-to the day maninvented fire.Maybe his legs were brokenfrom a fall down the sideof an icy mountain.The woman dragged himto his pine-bough bed.Confined, cold and hungry,he complained as the womannursed their insatiable babe. He drummed two sticksagainst a log to the cadenceof the baby’s sucking,rubbed…

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