DRINK DEEP

 

He died this dog

From the blood of pigs

You can’t castrate cross species

My father didn’t know

 

Stepping down wooden stairs

Basement a pyramid of shadows

The smell of spices soap and metal

Squeeze my chest

 

My father stuffing pink meat into casings

Leaning over plastic pail

Hair a crow’s wing across his eyes

Wide mouth like mine in smile

 

I lick raw pork from a callused finger

I never did get ill

My father didn’t know

Terry Meissner is married, a mother, middle-aged, grieving for a number of reasons, yet is oddly content. Recently she has had a short story published in the inaugural edition of The Green Muse, as well as winning a poetry contest. She has completed a novel for young adults and is currently working on a second one.

Dance to Death, Issue V

©2008 Sorrowland Press and all respective artists within.