Wednesday, June 1, 2011

the village: one

                                   the village: one




                       when the old man kills a rabbit
            first he strokes it
                   touches its head and soothes it
            always a fresh clean chopping block
                      always a clean dry place
         where the sun can reach its open eyes
                         when the head comes off.

                he did a small dance,
                        carrying, stroking, shaking
                                the small corpse
                                     as its life and blood pour out.
                       then cold streaming water
                             and the small, sharp knife

                      skin,
                          a dinner,
                            and crow's meat
             to be raised on a pole platform
                                   in the yard

                      an offering,
                              triumphant,
                 to Mother's janitorial crews.

All around the village the poles are raised, stinking.

                        It is the spring.


2009 Peter Greene.

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