accompaniment

the day after i cooked the two quail i killed
my cat trotted into the living room
with a dying baby rabbit in her lizard like maw.
the small thing lay there
occasionally gasping for air.

my cat had never killed before
(like i before the quail)
& for awhile i thought it merely in shock
& placed it in a box with a bowl of water.

later that day when i was taking out the trash
i saw she had left another one at the back door.
this one was fully motionless
also with thin skin bloodily pierced on the hind leg
and i laid it next to the first which had long gone still.

unlike the quail i killed
whose orgasmically spasming bodies
quivered & yearned in my hands
red flesh reaching from opening
toward severed sleeping head;

who smelled & tasted beautiful
tender yet textured,
after steeping cold in salt water and five spiced buttermilk
then hot in an onion tomato stew cooked over a campfire
delicate bones welcoming the tongue amidst crunchy bread
whose little feet continue to keep each other company
on the window sill of the woman who raised them from their egg

no, within days the bunnies had gone putrid
smelling similar to trash
& they lay belly to back in the box
until i buried them at the roots of a tree by the lake
their small sleeping bodies
tumbling into the mouth of the dirt.