IN THE MYTHOLOGY OF FOXES
The foxes blood
on the stone
still there two days
after
staring at me.
Only the day before
a daring raider
of my uncle's henhouse
the talk of our household.
But my uncle was patient
& stalked the lonely hours
until the fox
came to meet her death
thinking only of her cubs
& how big & bright
the moon loomed
tonight
and how the fearful thunder
of the gun
had ended
everything
and how now
shot through the head
her carcass thrown
behind a hedge
she finds herself
still staring bak
into the mind
of the little boy
even more aware
of her presence
now that nothing
exists
and how for
ever after
the boy
carries her death
cradling it
in his mind
trying to comfort
her
with his human
tears.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
IN THE MYTHOLOGY OF FOXES
The foxes blood
on the stone
still there two days
after
staring at me.
Only the day before
a daring raider
of my uncle's henhouse
the talk of our household.
But my uncle was patient
& stalked the lonely hours
until the fox
came to meet her death
thinking only of her cubs
& how big & bright
the moon loomed
tonight
and how the fearful thunder
of the gun
had ended
everything
and how now
shot through the head
her carcass thrown
behind a hedge
she finds herself
still staring bak
into the mind
of the little boy
even more aware
of her presence
now that nothing
exists
and how for
ever after
the boy
carries her death
cradling it
in his mind
trying to comfort
her
with his human
tears.
