Fragile

There you sit, so smug, upon

my feet. Licking bloody lips,

lazily, the memory gone

of games you played with

our escaped snake until

there was no more

writhing. He was still,

quiet. No fun, anymore.

You have taught our daughter

about death. With her small hands, she brings

the mangled, slaughtered

bodies of mice, and birds with broken wings

to us. We wash her hands,

and tell her it’s all right.

We softly explain, so she understands:

death is part of life.

Now you rest, rumbling

purr resonating against my

ankle bones, reaching

your eager head toward me in pride.

You monster. You beast.

You leave us these headless, limp

creatures, as if we should be pleased.

As if they were gifts.