Cabin At Deer Lake

I wasn't tall enough
to hold the poor rabbit
by the hind feet
without its head
thumping the floor.
So, I stood on a chair.

Grampa skinned that rabbit
quicker than I could think,
"Should I open my eyes yet?"

I was glad
he stopped at the neck,
not wanting dead things
staring at me.

Gramma's recipe
stirred in her head
as I grimaced an excuse
not to eat supper.

It was one of those evenings
when the sky turned blood red
from horizon to horizon.
And I wondered
what it would really be like
on the last day.

Lorraine Geiger
2nd Place, FSPA contest 1993
Published Florida State Poets Association Anthology 12