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Poem from:

Little Murders Everywhere by Rebecca Morgan Frank

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

marble-eyed,

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.

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