Rite

She decomposed here,
maggots worming between
her flesh and my tomatoes.

Gardener’s Delight. Moneymaker.
It was weeks before I found her,
the tomatoes had been green.

I buried her where I’ve since
planted raspberry canes,

but for some stupid, human vanity,
some thought I’d write a poem,
I kept her skull.

Her lower jaw
came away in my fingers,

you don’t think in the museums
jaws are wired on. There was no flesh
on the bones by the time
I buried her.

I put the skull
on a shelf in the garden.

Foxes jump on our sheds, cats
dig the soil, leap for birds hanging
off nets. We have no hedgehogs.

I deserve the slugs and snails
carpeting the paths on wet nights.

If I can find it again, I promise you,
I’ll bury it. Safe, beneath the raspberries.