It looks soft nosing through the clover
and I’m happy to have it here
or if not happy unbothered
but soon my hostas go jagged begonias bit
to the quick
one day I hear a scramble
and the thing’s at the door
face smashed to the glass like it wants
what’s in here
and I can see its fur is not soft
at all
so I point my husband to the air rifle
to the upstairs bathroom window and I am
insistent though not without guilt
or if not guilt sadness
or if not sadness
resignation—
breathing soft sighs
at the way things must be.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 22, Issue 3.
Abbie Kiefer is a poet from New Hampshire. Her work is forthcoming or has appeared in Arts & Letters, The Cincinnati Review, Hobart, Spoon River Poetry Review, and other places. She is a reader for The Adroit Journal. Find her online at abbiekieferpoet.com.
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