vengeance, 3 am...

"violent?
i can't really say, you know,
i didn't see it happen.
i can only tell you what
i heard,
shrieks so dense
they seemed caked upon
the night, so,
that when the
screaming finally stopped,
the sound hung there,
heavy and thick,
draped across the trees,
illuminated by a pale,
crescent moon."

in morning, there was a pile of loose, wet feathers. the ground was frozen, mud dusted in places with white. the sun was rising. light, sliced by branches, fell in unusual patterns upon the dirt, caught on the carcass of the bird, which stood out hard in the corner of her wandering eye. there was nothing to say then, nothing to do, except let go of the bread she'd been holding & stare at the crux of the tree.

(she felt her face drop).

the head had gone missing and the ribcage was hollowed, gleaned and chewed to the bone.

mikey (third from left)was taught, early on,
to love anything posessing a
heartbeat. consider the tragedy,
then, when it came time for father
to kill the chickens
for food.