ATHENA’S BOOK

THE PHEASANT

She cuts open the pheasant

Guts spill onto the chopping board

She dries the bird
and throws the wet cloth
into a pot-belly stove

The smoldering cloth
smells of roasted almonds and iron

It has rained for three days —
but the nights are dry

She asks

Are you washed in the Blood of the Lamb?