RUNT OF THE LITTER-Pets Poetry Contest
RUNT OF THE LITTER
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“Hilda’s in labor!” Mr. Davis shouted across the yard.
barefooted I dashed next door,
witnessing the magic, the slow unfurling
of five milk-chocolate Dachshunds,
slippery and new, squirming in the afternoon light.
they were a writhing mass ‘neath Hilda's warm belly,
each Doxie pup vying for a place at the milk bar,
a frantic, adorable scramble for nourishment.
the runt~smallest of the litter, a tiny replica,
immediately claimed a space in my heart,
a fragile hope nestled in my palm.
giggles bubbled up,
a fizzy sweetness in my throat
watching the Doxies, their eyes closed, wriggle
drunk on instinct and the promise of warmth.
then, the shift~
Hilda’s nudge, almost imperceptible,
the runt, pushed aside,
its tiny whimper lost in the chorus.
the magic fractured,
my first brush with unfairness,
a memory, bittersweet,
etched in the sepia tones of a long-ago summer.
Mr. Davis's weathered hands, a gentle scoop,
a fragile life transferred to mine.
hands, small then, cupped around a life barely there,
a sparrow fallen from a nest.
the shoebox, a makeshift cradle,
lined with a doll blanket~
inside the scent of old shoes, the tiny runt stretched,
then a hesitant yawn, a twitch of his paw.
"Why, Mr. Davis? Why would she...?" the question hung,
a child's innocent accusation against the wild.
Mr. Davis, a sage in overalls,
explained the weight of instinct and
survival's brutal calculus,
too heavy for my young heart to bear.
Now, years later, I understand~
the hard choices and love disguised as pain.
But in the shoebox, in the dust-filled summer light,
all I felt was the fragile pulse
of a life I desperately wanted to save.
Copyright ©
Sara Etgen-Baker
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