33

 

opossum
 

a dog is barking opinions. he is my ex-husband, waking neighbors. something rustles in the backyard, tips over a stack of empty clay pots. this night is in my head, feeling its way because there is no moon; there are no stars. I open the door and the opossum screams, frozen in guilt. light turns his black eyes to gold. his teeth, his pink tongue are fear and they writhe, they gnash. neither one of us moves. we feign, our dead tails curling like parasitic worms.
 

the night stands with its feet flat on the ground.

 

 


“right hand pointing” — ‘airbursts and shattercones’

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