I dreamt I turned my mother
into a bird—white,
with long thin feathers
and wrinkled red skin around her eyes.
I watched her cluck and scrabble
at the ground.
We ate her for dinner,
three lean coyotes in the coop.
and in the morning
I cleaned up the feathers,
pawed at her leftover bones and beak.
I buried it all in the garden,
the strange curve of my wolfish face
reflected in a single glob of fat
still clinging
to the wet, cold dirt.
Oct 8, 2024
Oct 8, 2024 at 3:54 PM UTC
I dreamt I turned my mother
into a bird—white,
with long thin feathers
and wrinkled red skin around her eyes.
I watched her cluck and scrabble
at the ground.
We ate her for dinner,
three lean coyotes in the coop.
and in the morning
I cleaned up the feathers,
pawed at her leftover bones and beak.
I buried it all in the garden,
the strange curve of my wolfish face
reflected in a single glob of fat
still clinging
to the wet, cold dirt.
