She was on her knees for praying
Her face turned to the window
What magic unbroken in walnuts
In blood when the fresh meat is killed
The teeth sink into tender flesh
Tonight she knows we glutton
We slurp our gravy like buzzards
Pulling the guts from roadkill
Everyone is quick to swallow
To get more into senseless mouths
She prays this dinner will be quicker
She stands up from the oven door
No walnuts for the stuffing.
About the Author:
John Garmon is an assistant in the writing center at the College of Southern Nevada, Las Vegas. A few years ago, he served as president of Berkeley City College in California. His poems have appeared in Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, Southern Poetry Review, and other journals.