My mother started cutting when I was nine. On Sunday afternoons, she'd sit at the kitchen table arranging coupons into what looked like a coupon-themed game of Solitaire. She'd tuck a few under he ... [+]
I have seen this movie before,
I know how it ends, with troops in the streets,
and the charred bones of buildings,
so I turn away from the ruthless images,
and, just as quietly as I can, lean
on the railing of the back deck
and wait for the gray fox to appear
from the dark tangled underbrush
into an evanescent strip of bright sunlight.