After my heels split and almost leave me hobbled in early summer, I take myself in hand and with a knife begin to pare the winter rind from my own hooves. The steady husbandry of the human. Scrubbing and clipping. Disposing of its wastes. Caring for it as if it were a helpless thing. But when I hold a slice of skin, waxy and pliant as Parmesan, up to the light, I'm suddenly not so sure the body needs me as the intricate complexity of this shard of amber quartz points to a vast cathedral, built to honour no god but its own.
Paul Fenn’s poem’s have been longlisted twice in the UK National poetry competition and this year in the The Plough poetry prize and he has most recently had poems published in Allegro, Dreich Magazine, Ink, Sweat and Tears, The Frogmore Papers, One Hand Clapping, Obsessed with Pipework and Dodging the Rain.