Inside the Hollow Tree

Amy Blyth Noble

Welcome to the beaver den!

here I squirrel away

things that might be useful.

Trust me, I need

my drawer of scarves I never wear.

I’d dig them up to welcome you, 

lay them down across the floor,

Mister Beaver, at the door.

I cut a deal in my head,

Inside the hollow tree, I begged

that no one’d ever ask for me

eternal winter, lonely.

I can be happy, or be safe.

A choice I never want to make.

I warm my nose in a tissue leaf-pile

tucked in by a cozy fire

filing claws I’m shy to use

cooking up a fresh excuse.

I hide in undergrowth of blankets

from inevitable chills, societal snowstorms.

I sense your arrival with the twitch of a whisker

Amy Blyth Noble studied English and Creative Writing at Te Herenga Waka (Vic) and now writes about living with a disability and being a nerd. She lives in Wellington, and can be found hiding in local choirs. Her work has been published in Takahē, Turbine/Kapohau, Circular issue 2, and the National Library of New Zealand, and upcoming in Mayhem. @mayblyth on Instagram.