<\/p>\n
We dunk the chickens dad killed in buckets of boiled water.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0Stick with me she says, you\u2019ll love it.<\/p>\n
With gloved hands we pull feathers out by the handful.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0You\u2019re half deadly with that crown, girl.<\/p>\n
White globs of chicken fat escape the pucker where each feather releases.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0Being wolfish, we are a certain kind of hungry,<\/p>\n
cautiously bloodthirsty. The dog ate so much cat food it couldn\u2019t walk,<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0but still, it ate the peanut butter.<\/p>\n
Hunger is like that.\u00a0 We find a den of fox kits, tiny white daggers of teeth<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0reflecting the moonlight. In nightmares<\/p>\n
we are devoured by a giant snake. The tips of our boots sliding down its torso.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0I hate hunger like a snake, but girl, I\u2019d buy your corndogs.<\/p>\n
We ride into the lake bareback. This way you can feel the horse beneath, you say.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0We lick long strands of strawberry Laffy Taffy.<\/p>\n
Sometimes we spit watermelon seeds into the flower beds. A promise we couldn\u2019t keep.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0In keeping with appearances, I am the mud. Not the lake.<\/p>\n
In August, watermelons grew in the flowerbeds. They never gave us watermelon again.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0It becomes impossible to put things back at some point.<\/p>\n
We swallow rocks because we need something heavy in our stomachs.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0To keep us from floating away.<\/p>\n
The lake is full of dead fish anyway. Drained. This mud will surely drown us.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0Hunger isn\u2019t always the problem, you say, sometimes it\u2019s mother.<\/p>\n
A flower whose petals I pluck, toss into dew-soaked grass.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0I am sorry for the way I was then, you understand.<\/p>\n
There is no replacement for good Laffy Taffy. For licking something sweet<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0until it\u2019s as warm as your tongue. What I mean to say<\/p>\n
is that I am sorry for leaving. I know we lost the house, sold the water.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0Still, I wish I was sorrier.<\/p>\n
I want a fairy a godmother with bones in her teeth and blood under her fingernails.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0I want more than chickens. More than that.<\/p>\n
What I mean to say, is that I am sorry I didn\u2019t come back.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0You see, the sun shines here like gold, girl.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s the wind that eats you.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Josephine Jones We dunk the chickens dad killed in buckets of boiled water. \u00a0 \u00a0Stick with me she says, you\u2019ll love it. With gloved hands we pull feathers out by the handful. \u00a0 \u00a0You\u2019re half deadly with that crown, girl. White globs of chicken fat escape the pucker where each feather releases. \u00a0 \u00a0Being […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":9585,"template":"","categories":[9,49,119],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9584","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-poetry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n