box of jars

alison palmer
Slick White of the Open
You are not what is new. You are nothing
like fresh snow. You have come and gone
so many times I don't bother to count
my sightings. You've become an animal

people hunt. Doesn't matter which: squirrel,
quail, deer…What is fair to ask of you?
I could've seen you, I suppose, all quilted
down for winter. Maybe you aren't even
someone to be hunted. Rather, you are
someone to seek out of hibernation.
Does this make you feel better? Less
threatened? Less threatening. 

It comes to this, one person so after another.