GREY FOXES
IIt was the summer the grey foxes came out
of the deep woods to stand on our suburban lawn,
screaming at the dying cat, claiming the night
for their own.
Two nights later, he faded away, became dust
and stone.
II
After surgery, my mother hallucinated that
she was alone in the hospital, the last person
on earth. She picked up the phone,
but there was no one to call.
Night after night, she had the same dream,
the only one alive in the deserted city.
III
And then the black day came when the old dog left us;
his breath, ragged, foam bubbling from his muzzle.
He laid his head down in the dew-drenched grass,
a sweet September morning, and never got up again.
IV
Maybe the foxes were real; maybe they were only a dream.
The days rush by, swallows in the wind
with their green backs
and white throats; they disappear in the shadows
when twilight overtakes them.
~Barbara Crooker
