We Had a Cow Named Chicken Once

Yasmin Belkhyr

I tried to fish the river, but the water was red,

cattails jerking back and forth on the grassy bank.

In the forest, too many dead geese. Too many thin

dead geese with not enough meat on them to cook.

Bird like this’ll just burn, Eve said. Eve cut out her

tongue last fall and now she helps me pluck goose feathers.

Once, there was that dream where the slaughtered cows

came back to life. Once, there was that dream where Jesus

cut his arm and I got drunk. Once, Eve ate a fish whole,

skeleton peeking out the soft pink of her belly for weeks.

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