LITTLE MURDERS EVERYWHERE
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.
EROS IS HEADED TOWARDS US
Golden or lead. Love or indifference.
Although Eros has been close, it’s no threat
to hit us. Landing on Eros is no cakewalk.
Scientists are delighted by Eros.
Sappho says he’s sweetbitter.
Eros is solid and primitive, far
from being smooth. Dominated by dust-
covered impact craters, scattered rocks.
The chapters of Eros are short.
Eros seizes and shakes from execution
of a controlled descent to its surface.
If you stood on Eros, you’d make a nice footprint.
If love should love, love would be an asteroid.
Asteroids are more subtle than we imagined.