Paper Triangles

POEMS 

Thinning our little herd

 

For weeks 

we had Baskerville 

hounds in our heads

sweeping bold arcs 

through feathered darkness 

at the porch lights’ circle edge.

My father’s too-long absence

and the distortion

of farm-night acoustics

surely exaggerated their size

but the rigid carnage we’d find

stitched to the morning’s frozen 

grass did little to lessen unease.

A man who was not our father 

barked stark instruction

at my brother and me:

foolproof steps 

for burning a gutted calf.

from Regulator, Puncher & Wattmann Poetry, 2014