the baby’s cough was still in my ears
when i shot the rabbit
laid in crimson and not yet cold
twitching and jittering
be patient
and let it die
knees wet through wool
the sighs come and go
patience
it will die
but she is home and hungry
so my hot and cruel hands
bless and dispatch in short order

the shadows are longer this year
than they have ever been
the drifting snow more crisp
sending back the report of food
so swift it seems the hare
is already stewed, already juiced
the near-smell of it makes me
pulse and pursue my path
to fire and walls and her cheeks
polished red that will bend and lift
so like her father’s
at this gift i bring her