Death in the Spicerack
I saw it only once
_ _couched
Between the parsley flakes
And a box of cloves,
Just to the left of the basil,
Wet and dark,
Tearing with needle teeth
And tiny baby hands
At a bulb of garlic.
It happened just after
The news of a death in
My family had come
Scampering out of the telephone
And on past my ear.
W. M. Stahl is writing full time. He is working concurrently on poems, short fictions, a novel and occasionally churning out an article, “to pacify my creditors.” (1975)