Something Dead
There is something
dead
in here.
I am a furrier's
daughter.
I recognize the smell
of a decaying
carcass.
It is in my
art room which
is pregnant with
art supplies.
Ugh!
I had warned
myself
about a week
ago that
something could
come in here and die.
And now it has.
A fresh carcass.
I begin to dig.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment