Slaughter Day — Nov. 6

I didn’t get out of bed this morning for twenty minutes

Lying in the dark in hopeful ignorance

Then I see my mother in the hall and I’m six years old again —

She has bad news —

Back then, though, I didn’t know how much I had to lose.

But now I do and now I’m scared.

Now I go back to bed because it’s safer there.

Today we slaughter half our sheep,

So I cannot bear to be at home.

I don’t want to go to school today —

I’m too tired, though, to run away.

I’d like to be alone instead,

Go to the trees if not my bed,

But there are hunters in the wood,

And I’m hiding from that bloodstain-red.

And when I get home I’ll pretend that I don’t notice

The crimson splashed against the white of a fence post.

And I’ll pretend I do not see

The man who speaks on the TV.

I’ll pretend those sheep aren’t dead —

And then I’m going back to bed.