I with my gun
am a good mother
I cut my daughters mouth
on teeth
in the oatmeal
I pay heavily
for the meat
I slip past her gums
so she will
value the taste
of blood and
metal
We live in the country
with our designer sheep
and rescued dogs
pace the fences
we have made of the field
let our eggs roll
from the counter
With a bird in my hand
trembling until faint
until not
I tell her stories
of the sea
of her own
violent arc
she must inherit
and shape with her small hands
to buoy the barrel
Copyright © 2025 by Abigail Chabitnoy. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 26, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
