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Animals in Winter – Nan Wigington

The snow came like a wave of old women, all white hair and whiskers, peck, peck, poking at the cabin’s window glass. You shivered. My stomach growled. Webs wreathed the cold. I imagined a spider’s glisten, knew we had escaped the world, but not its meanness.

You made a fire with chair legs, arms.

You talked of spring, blueberries on the branch, salmon in the sea.

‘If I go first,’ you said. ‘You may cut me up and eat.’

Always the romantic. I doubted I could wait and swept my hand down your back. Where would I sink the knife?