"Dining alone bothers us all far more than sleeping alone." Barbara Holland One's Company
The Imitator
In the evening land a woman
places fresh bread on a polished table,
takes a knife from the drawer
cutting board from the wall
sets the single plate.
Milk sloshes in the pitcher
the screen door thumps in the breeze
the dim first star of night
appears in the uppermost square of window.
Outside, a whimpering begins, crescendos.
Pitcher in hand, she crosses the threshold,
wades the evening grass,
scans the wooded hill.
Feral Cat? Lost dog? Coyote pup?
She clicks her tongue and waits.
Then, a scuffling
a pant
out limps red fox.
The woman kneels.
Eye to eye they speak in silence.
Knife in mind, the woman pares
the barrier between them.
The fox approaches.
Paw examined, thorn removed
the fox laps milk,
departs.
In the evening land a woman
slices thin the bread, sets the single bowl
sits
and under the glow of midsummer constellations
laps milk.
First two lines are taken from MeKeel McBride's poem
"The Going Under of the Evening Land."
1992
