by RF
I see your arms:
tree trunks, deep umber, shell smooth
curved and bulging deltoids
with slender wrists
wrapped around and close and under
a chicken
held with just enough tension to still a ragged wing.
The chicken has water belly.
We are setting up an impromptu operating table
and I am to be the one to drain her
with my inexperienced
premedical hands.
You hold her in the warm water
murmuring and cooing to calm her
with those gentle arms.
I prick a syringe in. The leak is slow.
The knives we found are dirty
nothing that the vodka can’t fix
but devastatingly dull
and we couldn’t find the knife block to hone.
Her eyes do not meet mine. She is lethargic and swollen
so close to death anyhow.
Puncture wounds. More puncture wounds.
No fluid.
No release.
Only the needle does it
but takes it drip by drop
too slow to make progress.
Your arms hold her down
when she sometimes wakes and cries out.
She fades as the water cools.
I turn away. Your strong arms circle me
smooth my ragged feathers
murmuring assurances.
You give reprieve from simple tragedy
well-meaning
intervening
in a life that was not mine to take away.
RF is currently 23 years old, living in Philadelphia, PA, USA. They enjoy noticing things and writing about them. Find them on Instagram: @rfwriting