Sunday Dinner Poem by Jennifer Jenkins

I found her on the deck
half-baked,
choking on the noon-day sun
frantic with a batch of rats-

cries lost in a jungle of moss,
none buried in the nipple;
Mother spoke of Nature’s way.

my morning search led me
to a shoebox
next to the woodpile;
cradling the slick, black
furry backs- I poked
gently at a soft,
crumpled spine
when a hiss of air escaped
the still warm bones.

I carried it to the carport
where Father was lurking-
his wild hair, pitchfork teeth
blowing the fluff like dandelion-
blue ribbons and good luck
dangled from his fingers;

I held dinner to my chest.