troglodytes hiemalis

my cat kills a wren under the pine boughs
its guts are spilled in the gravel
old and rotting
it hurts my chest
i carry it to the locust tree
and set it above the other birds I’ve buried there
in the soft grass
despite its age
its corpse isn’t stiff
and its soft head shifts to the side when i place it
craning as if to spot the sky
it does not look at peace.

i want to fix it, to move its feathers so it rests swaddled 
in its own embrace
in the very image of rictus-comfort that I crave
but i cannot bring myself to touch it again
and my eyes start to sting
with grief and rage

it is endlessly frustrating to know that this too shall pass
that nothing is permanent, not one thing
besides that single fact

***

a rabbit died in our wood tonight
and i heard it because my fans were off
the nights are cooling down
and the air no longer feels like its trying to strangle me

there were fireflies earlier
and they were lovely
it made me think of that other summer week in ohio
but i’ve cried my allotted amount of time today already
so there wasn’t an available option
to be sad. 
(because there’s not one thing to be sad about! you idiot.

except maybe the baby birds that they drowned 
at the boat dock
because their nest had been made on a ship set to sail 
to another port
far away
and they wouldn’t survive the trip
that was pretty terrible)

it is horrible to imagine being so small and perfect and blameless
and experience such a torturous death
without knowing 
the reason why

the rabbit screamed for twenty minutes
a child’s cry
in the dark
across the road
and I felt 
hollow