COYOTES

EMILY PINKERTON

 
 

On the farm where my niece lives
Coyotes are eating the sheep.
 
I always wanted to be a good sheep,
grazing calmly in the field.

 
Fuck it. The sheep are dead.
I can’t pretend anymore. I want to live without hiding

 
Trickster eyes, bloody incisors. No more passing
As pet, always disappointing. No, I’m anything but.

 
I’m sorry for what flesh I tore. Predatory instincts.
I was never tame, I know.

 

 
 

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