Frailty of Saints

Once, when I was nine,

our dogs ravaged a rabbit’s nest in our backyard.

I heard the screams.

One lived,

and I wrapped him in dad’s old shirt

and I sat on the couch

and I set him in my lap

and I tried to feed him warm milk through an eye dropper.

That was the day I learned the frailty of baby rabbits.

I cried when he died, like there was some medicine I had overlooked.

I had to be more powerful than a mutt’s jaw.

I wasn’t.