Little Murders Everywhere
Frank, Rebecca Morgan
As for me, I was merely an accessory:
I raised the ax and chopped the frozen squirrel in thirds.
The red-tailed hawk watched me
our fear strung as taut as the line that joined us.
When I offered her the unwanted –
tiny beaks, spindly legs (male chicks from the factory)–
she came to me, swallowed them whole, left
not a trace of yellow in my covered palm.
Our rope never loosening the length between us.
I tried to please her, found corpses everywhere,
scraped them from the pavement, then
transported, froze, and butchered them.
Small birds, two chipmunks,
a pregnant field mouse. A rattlesnake.
Dark-blood bodies, casualties I didn’t mourn.
I loved only her, her snapping severed wing,
that vicious grip, her equivalent of a fist.
And what could she think of me?
I was the dark room, the leather glove, the rope.
Copyright Rebecca Morgan Frank 2012