Thieving
by D. K. Sterling

Salem was the son of
his wayward mother who carefully crept
around the edges of the lawn
looking like a sad moth eaten burglar
waiting for nightfall to steal those last
tiny morsels of sunlight
before she'd slink into position of
thin voiced crying around the back door
hoping for a handout.

In all those months I never
once spied her during hours of daylight,
as if she were a vampire
or the ghost of someone long forgotten
who could neither be heard nor seen
until moonlight bounced across the field
(nightly traveled)
leading from behind the church
(across the way)
down the driveway to my door.

Didn't realize
she'd been great with kittens
(always seemed so hollow and vacant)
whisper thin, it was a secret well kept
until she broke ritual
the length a fortnight returning
with pronounced nipples...
and soon came one evening
(the sons of Sodom)
Salem looking like
the pocket-sized shadow of her
(even sounding like her)
that odd whine in his voice--
and his brother Simon,
gray and black
with all the navigational skill
of a mushroom in the forest.

The night they appeared
she disappeared,
evaporated without a trace
like vapors from a witch's brewing pot--
didn't have need of me any longer
as I'd sustained her through
a pregnant winter,
providing the perfect alibi
and halfway house
for the tangible descendants
of a phantom, runaway mama.

(FZQ)