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Aubade with Foxes

All night foxes ranged over the snow crust

barking raggedly. This morning

a warm rain softens the snow and dumbly

I watch my love sweep it off the windshield

and drive away. I’m in the road in little more

than underwear, suspended in the edgy bliss

of exhaust with two flights of stairs to climb.

In dens nearby the coiled foxes lick

their teeth and cover their eyes

with bushy, white-tipped tails. When I go

inside, my bare feet leave curved wet-marks

on the stairway’s metal treads. A fox

will arc along a wall knowing the stone

won’t hold her scent. When a fox runs in leaves

her sound is a rustle of leaves. No one is looking

or listening for me. Nearby a bell hits its notes.

Which version of heaven will feed me

until my love comes home? In one, I understand

what the foxes say. In the other, the foxes

find what they want and are quiet with it.

from O’NightsFind more by Cecily Parks at the library

Copyright © 2015 Cecily Parks
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

Published in Cecily Parks Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.