Miriam Bird Greenberg
Comments about Miriam Bird Greenberg
I Passed Three Girls Killing a Goat
I passed three girls killing a goat, shotgun
leaned up against a tree and the entrails
spilling into a coil on the ground. It was hooked
between the tendons of its back legs
to a high branch that gently creaked
like a dry hinge busybody aunties wouldn't oil.
Blood drained into a pail, you could smell it
shifting with the air, and black flies landed
in the shadows of things where the wind
didn't touch. I dreamed I was carrying a sack
filled with animals, and it dragged blood
in the gravel and stained my skirt hem, you could follow my trail
to the county line ...