©2013 JoAnn Verburg |
Out of the darkness, men come with knives.
They work quickly,
muttering back and forth.
By the time the police arrive,
the boar is gone. The foreigners,
each one of us, stand around
the wrecked car,
everyone still alive.
And then
the moment becomes a story,
cut open as completely as the boar had been,
all of us making use of it
in whatever ways we need
until our lives and the names
we were given never to let go of,
go.
And even laughter and even our fears:
gone,
along with the boar and our bewilderment,
traceless now inside the unending sound
of crickets, the brown dust
soaked in blood.
© 2013 Jim Moore
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Autoliterate
with permission
Reproduced by Autoliterate
with permission
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