It was soft, the day was done,
It was small
Aunt Agony passes the knife, she says:
She squirms in my hand, soft
light fur and frightened eyes.
lifelike. Out against the stump,
blade down, quick, press. The struggle
takes more than a second
less than a minute
more than a lifetime.
Later, we will eat her in cream, and
my fingernails will be soaked
in the firm, even press of the knife,
and the squirming, lifelike form.