Content warning: references emotional abandonment

 

I rub my child-sized hand
over the coarse gray hair of a
bushy curving tail.
I stare into flat black eyes,
inspect perfect twin ears.
I chat as I map this body, a muted
monologue shrouded in intimacy.
If only I could reanimate,
breathe life into this
taxidermied squirrel.

Mounted on wood,
a walnut wedged in front incisors,
my silent friend resides
inside our unused fireplace.
I visit this makeshift mausoleum,
my bottom perched on the
hearth’s cold flagstone,
and I whisper my secrets
during lonesome downcast days.

I can’t understand how
my father felt pride
as his rifle triumphed over
such a slight humble creature,
or how he desired it stuffed
like a shoddy souvenir,
a wretched replica of life.

In time, my adult self will
better comprehend about
sculpted illusions, about
monuments erected to
deflect, to pretend, and
yet deluding only one.