Pelt

the mother fox takes the kit in its mouth

Carries it to the bank
moist tonguexx teeth gentle
rough brush smoothing my fur-hair

xxxto be carried this way

dry patch my life xxno blackberries along its shore
unspoken words clutter the hallways
and the constant chore of silencing the dead

where I live is bleak and vastxx worn paths
around a pond, rusted can bike wheels
old wire curls at my feet

xxxthe mother kit carries its

So sure I would be a competent mother
I swore I would

xxx open keep your mouth open, only a few more

The pond frozen
The paddle boats turned upside down on the shore
Certain I could skate without blades

xxx ffolds of moist

I live curled in the mouth of the fox.
I don’t say that to just anyone
but to you I’ll say it again: the place
formed in the shape of a fox, its slack jaw hanging
flies and ants crawl the pelt
ice-stare of its eye

and my brother hissing: touch it, touch it, I dare you