Lullaby
For a child, the sun takes too long to rise,
fire through sticks left of autumn trees.
She lifts the shotgun and both barrels blow.
Load and pull. Load and pull.
Shells smoke to the frosted ground.
Their bodies are broken through and through,
black winged drips in sunrise dew.
Chick-chick, pull. Chick- chick, pull.
Six doves for dinner and tucking herself in.
Cover photo by Bernadetta Watts