Tell her wait, little interrupter. Why bother
she is slow. She is field hungry, moving
to the edge of the garden, where she wants
to stay and stay. Spring on its way, why listen.
She is solidly hers. Ducks overhead and the sky
a speckled target. A suggestion of owls in the trees.
The trees repeat her name. How the trees insist.
The birdbath unfreezes, the ground sprouts
and shifts. Tell her back to the house with its curtains
and floors. Tell her dress the paper dolls in leaves,
give them paper knives and forks. Stand them on the counter.
Tell her lovely, little negotiator. She would rather gather
mice. She has had it with the roses. How the bugs persist.
Tell her she can wish for goats eating up the weeds—
she can hope for rabbits. Deer lingering by the fence.
She wants her animals near. She wants the only sound
to be their movements. Call her steady. Tell her resist.

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SUSAN DENNING’s work has appeared in Filter, New York Quarterly, Quick Fiction and elsewhere. Her chapbook, She Preferred to Read The Knives, is available from Dancing Girl Press. She edited the online magazine Caffeine Destiny for 13 years, and is one of the editors of the anthology Alive At The Center: Contemporary Poems from the Pacific Northwest. She was born in Southern California but has spent most of her life in Oregon. She lives in Portland, where she teaches writing and works at Literary Arts, a literary nonprofit.

2 responses to “No One Knows Her”

  1. Jhong says:

    Who is she

  2. Lexi Renshaw says:

    Who is she?

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