Marauder
by Sara Burge
Luck
I watch my son playing all the way back
in the yard against chain link alley fence
talking to a stranger
and I see how small he is
and I wonder what adult would talk to someone so small
and why doesn’t my son spring away as fast as he can
so I step outside and all I see is prey my mind grows teeth sees teeth
on the stranger then he notices me and I see him
slip claws into pockets before he just
stops talking and stalks away
and that’s when I understand
the sickness my mother felt
when halfway to school
the car lurched out its last bit of power
while she managed it off the road
we’ll be late
this is before cell phones
so she told me to hike the hill to the lone house for a mile
and I pulled my faux-rabbit coat tight around my throat
I was only ten
so when the beat-up truck slowed
and the stranger asked if I wanted a ride
I hopped in
I hadn’t yet learned I was prey.
Sara Burge
Sara Burge is the author of Apocalypse Ranch (C&R Press) and her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming from Virginia Quarterly Review, Prairie Schooner, The American Journal of Poetry, Atticus Review, Cimarron Review, River Styx, and elsewhere.