Flutter

Dark

I pull up the new lane,
clean blue swath
hammered into hill,
bypass for Uncle Glen
who will kill us
if we touch feet to sod.
It's dark like organs
pulled from a gutted deer;
(no smell compares
to egg and oak
and rot and death,
knife's first cut at night.)
It's late, its breath puffs,
its eyes shine ginger,
reflect headlights.

Dear animal,
You don't grow small,
take up less space
as a grandmother does;
we leave you fieldless,
take room from legs.
I won't hit, flip
you ass over roof,
wipe blood from the hood.
My uncle's house sleeps,
like you, with eyes open,
twenty possibilities,
games for hunter and prey.

~ Laura Hirneisen lives on a farm in southeastern PA. Her poetry and fiction have has in or is forthcoming from Caduceus, Word Riot, Convergence, and other journals.