At the top stair, the half of a mouse
that is head and forepaws. A link
of unbroken intestines winding down
to the bottom stair, where the gray-furred
hind part rests. A stray leg and a few
minor organs dot the walkway. The major
organs of the body — the heart, the stomach,
the liver — placed in a row of gifts
on the welcome mat. Devotion demands
feeling, not augur, to read. We shovel
the offal away, appalled. Toss the pieces
across the edge of the forest. When
she dies later, and suddenly, we wrap her
in shrouds. Bury her silver-furred body
under the red-leaf maple. After months,
the once-quiet yard will teem again,
abundantly, and cruelly, with life.
Kate Pyontek’s poems are published or forthcoming in Poetry, Ecotone, Southeast Review, Consequence, The Glacier, Hunger Mountain, Shō Poetry Journal, New Ohio Review, The Summerset Review, and elsewhere. Kate can be found on Instragram @katepyontek and on the web at https://katepyontek.com.