Omens I Choose to Ignore
       

Children sit under street signs eating plums, staining
their chins like used Band-Aids.
                                                      A corner of the ceiling
falls in though it hasn't rained for weeks. Your books
on the bedroom floor lie shrouded in plaster.

Merlot's persistent silt lines my glass, never in the shape
of anything.
                            The flat silence after
your neighbor's Doberman escapes—we only sleep
when she returns to her chain.

The children who stole from us leave their bitten pits.

I find every green penny glued face-up on the asphalt.

At night you don't understand
a word I say, laughing as I explain how to gut a fish:
                                if it's done quick, you'll see the heart beating.

              And later, when the dog breaks away once more,
we watch as she looks back at us with a smile,
dark head bending at an impossible angle.

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Copyright © 2021 Paige Quiñones All rights reserved
from The Best Prey
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Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission