Each night at 10 P.M., you snuffle & move bits of bone
& debris about, making your bed in the wall beside mine.
Sometimes your living is too loud, the bones too big,
your agitation too wild. So I yell at you to quiet down.
We have learned to share this space, divided by detritus
& walls. When friends ask, amused, “Have you seen the creature?”
What do I need to see? I say. She guards against her ending,
the day’s long drain. Predators kill in creative, varying ways—
the hard hand, the bullet, the trap, the hostile heart.
What more need I know than that?
ISSUE: Spring 2015