My body is migrating for winter, following the cranberry trail
Of monarch butterflies, the crows eat baby rabbits, unable to resist.
Winter squirrels are building a nest of regurgitated mulberries, full-
Ripe acorns, spindly dandelion stems in the back corner of my deck.
Recent-born mice swim in the fermented mix, enter my soft bedroom.
My cat finds their tails, leads them to death by broken heart,
Their perfect half-formed bodies drowned in feline saliva.



Image Credits: Tullio Saba

Beth Gordon

Beth Gordon is a writer who has been landlocked in St. Louis, Missouri for 17 years but dreams of oceans, daily. Her work has recently appeared in Into the Void, Verity La, Quail Bell,Calamus Journal, Five:2:One, Califragile and others. She can be found on Twitter @bethgordonpoet.

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