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      September 24, 2018AllurementAthena Kildegaard

      My son calls to tell me
      he held the two rabbits
      he’d raised and was
      about to kill close
       
      to his chest, their hearts
      racing, his heart full
      of the blood of necessity
      and qualm, his heart
       
      filled with a song
      of holy lullaby
      to calm the creatures,
      their warm bodies pulsing
       
      against his, and I think,
      as he falls silent on the phone,
      that he will, some day—I’m
      sure of it—make a good father.

      from #60 - Summer 2018

      Athena Kildegaard

      “I live in western Minnesota, prairie pothole country, not too far north of where Carol and Robert Bly lived. Over the years I’ve met many poets who made pilgrimages to their place. I think of certain poems that way, places to which I make a pilgrimage every once in a while, to remind me of what’s sacred and necessary.”

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