When the screen door

claps in its wooden frame, the goat

runs to the fence as if I were bringing

him the world instead of rotting squash.

 

Holding the notch

where the vine once met,

the green body is bumpy and twisted,

like the goat’s neck as he plucks

 

it from my stretched hand. This moment-

indigo sky and orange

sun setting- – when warm winds

pick up autumn and I can feel

 

hard, strong teeth

as the goat searches my hand

for more squash, gently though,

as if he couldn’t bear to know

 

that one world is all

I have to feed him- –

gently, like this one world

may be too much.

 

(by Sarah CR Clark)