I'm trying to polish this poem up for a local poetry contest. Needs to be
postmarked July 3rd, so I'd appreciate any comments.
She entered the woods, now snow cleared,
softened, the brown finally finding a new hue,
sun slits scattered along the path. On her feet
she wore thick soled boots, though
she had no need, tendrils of winter lay
settled too deep, too thick in her thinking.
So she wasn't really thinking anything
when she saw through the thicket
something hanging in the tree, large,
a winter jacket maybe, but no. Her eyes
narrowed to slits, her feet to stumbling
blocks, still she moved within range
to where she could see it, clear, hanging
there, a rope around its dirty white throat,
a halo of thrumming flies and a belly,
slit and spilled. At once, pulled and pushed,
hand held like a gasp, she could see clearly
what she didn't want to see, the goat
hung from the tree. Limbs stiff in life,
branched in death, hooves still black
with the earth, swayed in the air. Though
her eyes went on, recording each detail,
her brain had stilled. Intestines spilled
on the ground, tangled, dark, fetid.
Somehow she careen home, clear
through the bracken to her mother,
who called the local police in Stonington.
Later there would be quotes in the news.
"It's not clear what the goat was doing
in the tree," Deputy McFarlane said.
"There weren't any houses near by."
"Could be some kind of Satanic rites,"
said Berhalter, the animal control officer.
"There weren't any animals reported missing."
McFarlane hadn't been to see it yet, but
at the very least, he called it animal cruelty.
The mother refused to speak to reporters
when they called. In the bedroom, the girl
lay on her bed, venetian blinds throwing
slits of light across her legs. Her door locked.
Her hands stuffed between her knees
like thin-bellied animals, wedged, held tight.
Revised
Small atrocity
In the woods, snow cleared,
softened with a new hew of brown,
sun slits scattered along the path,
the girl wandered aimlessly.
An odd object in the distance,
winter jacket, abandoned christmas tree,
stiff, large, nameless thing, hanging
in a cage of shadows.
Stumbling closer she could see
the rope around its white throat,
a halo of thrumming flies, a belly,
slit and spilled, yanked
free of the ground -- a goat.
Limbs stiff, hooves still black
with earth, it swayed. Dizzy,
hypnotized, fumbling,
she turned and stumbled home,
half hysterical, voice like bees
and burdocks, stinging her mother
with the hard kiss
of adolescent terror. Lips pressed,
full of hard ironed heart, her mother
called the deputy in Stonington,
listened with granite ears.
Later, in the Stonington Sun:
"It's not clear what the goat was doing
in the tree," said Deputy McFarlane.
"There weren't any houses near."
"Could be some kind of Satanic rites,"
said Berhalter, animal control officer.
McFarlane hadn't been to see it yet,
but he called it animal cruelty.
Her mother refused to speak to reporters.
In the bedroom, the girl lay on her bed.
Venetian blinds threw slits of light
across her legs. Her hands stuffed
unmoving between her knees
like thin-bellied animals,
wedged, held tight.
She entered the woods, now snow cleared,
softened, the brown finally finding a new hue,
sun slits scattered along the path. On her feet
she wore thick soled boots, though
she had no need, tendrils of winter lay
settled too deep, too thick in her thinking.
So she wasn't really thinking anything
when she saw through the thicket
something hanging in the tree, large,
a winter jacket maybe, but no. Her eyes
narrowed to slits, her feet to stumbling
blocks, still she moved within range
to where she could see it, clear, hanging
there, a rope around its dirty white throat,
a halo of thrumming flies and a belly,
slit and spilled. At once, pulled and pushed,
hand held like a gasp, she could see clearly
what she didn't want to see, the goat
hung from the tree. Limbs stiff in life,
branched in death, hooves still black
with the earth, swayed in the air. Though
her eyes went on, recording each detail,
her brain had stilled. Intestines spilled
on the ground, tangled, dark, fetid.
Somehow she careen home, clear
through the bracken to her mother,
who called the local police in Stonington.
Later there would be quotes in the news.
"It's not clear what the goat was doing
in the tree," Deputy McFarlane said.
"There weren't any houses near by."
"Could be some kind of Satanic rites,"
said Berhalter, the animal control officer.
"There weren't any animals reported missing."
McFarlane hadn't been to see it yet, but
at the very least, he called it animal cruelty.
The mother refused to speak to reporters
when they called. In the bedroom, the girl
lay on her bed, venetian blinds throwing
slits of light across her legs. Her door locked.
Her hands stuffed between her knees
like thin-bellied animals, wedged, held tight.
Revised
Small atrocity
In the woods, snow cleared,
softened with a new hew of brown,
sun slits scattered along the path,
the girl wandered aimlessly.
An odd object in the distance,
winter jacket, abandoned christmas tree,
stiff, large, nameless thing, hanging
in a cage of shadows.
Stumbling closer she could see
the rope around its white throat,
a halo of thrumming flies, a belly,
slit and spilled, yanked
free of the ground -- a goat.
Limbs stiff, hooves still black
with earth, it swayed. Dizzy,
hypnotized, fumbling,
she turned and stumbled home,
half hysterical, voice like bees
and burdocks, stinging her mother
with the hard kiss
of adolescent terror. Lips pressed,
full of hard ironed heart, her mother
called the deputy in Stonington,
listened with granite ears.
Later, in the Stonington Sun:
"It's not clear what the goat was doing
in the tree," said Deputy McFarlane.
"There weren't any houses near."
"Could be some kind of Satanic rites,"
said Berhalter, animal control officer.
McFarlane hadn't been to see it yet,
but he called it animal cruelty.
Her mother refused to speak to reporters.
In the bedroom, the girl lay on her bed.
Venetian blinds threw slits of light
across her legs. Her hands stuffed
unmoving between her knees
like thin-bellied animals,
wedged, held tight.
