Celebrating 15 Years
They scampered as if the devil
was herding them off the ledge,
each one following the others,
grass trampled black, muck up
to their perfect hams ready
for the knife, packing salt,
and market. It happened. I saw
the mud spray up their faces,
heard the whole pack panic,
charge, dash, splash and go under,
hooves kicking at the water,
pink snouts squealing and their eyes
rolling white. What will we do
with these two-thousand drowned
hogs, floating now in the twilight’s
silence? We stare over the edge
of the cliff, mud thick, boots
sucking and sinking, look back
at the man with chains and hands
loose along his sides, scars
like tributaries on his body,
standing calm beside the one
who did this. Look how much
this cost me. The meat is ruined
even if we fish it out with our nets.
Sarah M. Wells is the author of Pruning Burning Bushes and a chapbook, Acquiesce. Sarah’s poetry has been honored with two Pushcart Prize nominations.
