Love is a scale
but still I erase
my father. Turning
his data into
poems regardless
of methodology
or explanation of
abbreviations for
behavior acts.
Zoologist.
Sixteen trials
when I was
sixteen. I dipped
the mouse in
vitamin powder.
Took the lid
off the box
tossed it in
to the hungry
serpent. Later
I would steel
my nerves
to reach in,
grab the writhing
reptile. Put it
into a sack
to be weighed.
My first memory
is a strike to the
nose. Yes,
the snake bites.
But here I am
reaching in.
Ignoring the
hiss of warning
because love
is a scale.
I wanted to tip
the balance.
I guess
I still do.
RAY BALL, Ph.D., is a writer and a history professor. She grew up in Oklahoma and Texas, but now lives in Anchorage, Alaska. Her creative work has recently appeared in Cirque, Longleaf Review, and West Texas Literary Review. She tweets @ProfessorBall
Image: Harald Landsrath via Pixabay
The Cabinet of Heed 