On Monday There Were Consequences

by Meredith Herndon





A rat lies dead under our stove for five days before

we find it. The smell is unbearable.

Rain comes in through the open window. A jury

deliberates. We feel hopeful.

Then, the liquor store closes, the shower starts to leak.

The cathedral burns. You ask me

if I believe in curses.

How can I answer? We wait

for a verdict. We empty our cabinets

looking for death. The news reports

they hear the witness screaming

after she gives her testimony. You sauté garlic

in butter to mask the smell. We gather

fallen fruit from the orchard next-door.

You ask me to bake a pie. I read they asked her

why she still wrote him emails, signed them love.

Keep looking. Keep pulling everything out

from its hiding place. Persimmons and apricots

so ripe they shine. The jury returns.

Everything is rotting.





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