by STEVIE KILGORE - April 30, 2021
Debbie’s knees were one more victim
of faded scars from gravel sidewalks
And although she was old and cold
she had herself an axe in a case
and a cat named Easter
In the mornings, when the empty
woman refused to rise out of bed
the cat knocked his paws on the case
and the sharpened axe rattled inside
like a caged animal
When Debbie was young she chopped trees
beside her Daddy every summer
They giggled and lugged logs to burn
Now if she tried to pick them up
she would crumple and die
One frail chain-smoking skeleton
a stiffened pale mummy positioned
on a rusted porch swing, Easter
rubbing against her feet
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