From Days of Shame and Failure
THE KILLER
Stella had been chasing that rabbit for weeks.
While wet nose deep in the lilies, she’d miss
its streak across the lawn, its slip into a skinny
woodpile nook just wide enough to scotch
a frantic paw. She must’ve thought the flickering
thing magic. “It darts into the bush and disappears!”
And so all the more other to her—its white tail, a
wink, a “so long, dummy!”—its siren otherness
setting her fur on end like lightning. Tirelessly
she worked the corners, fluffed the undergrowth,
until finally she laid down with that flash, draped
one leg across the broken back and licked it
head to toe, tasting all it still was, its open black
eye steering towards some other she’d erased
