Infanticide in Foxes by Tom Snarsky

The good isn't something we can trust.

Infanticide in Foxes
by Tom Snarsky

Bye heart,
old ticking

thing. Pond
overflow

runs behind
the trees, naked

as the day
they were

taken for
born. A cub,

handled too
roughly &

carried by
his spine, dies

+ is buried
under wool

tangles, to be
dug up again

in a few hours
for food (the 4

weeks before
that

spent
below ground,
a little
Gethsemane

of learning
to see).

The good
isn’t something

we can trust
or know,

stress of the
first-time

mother,
hiding

in a barn
from snow

★ First published in ONLY POEMS ★