The Disarmament

Trash Day is always an accomplishment:

I lug those full, stinking cans to the curb
like I’m walking down the red carpet
in an underfunded coronation 
for conquering another week, 
having spent the last seven days 
alternating between washing dishes and
disarming intercontinental ballistic missiles
buried beneath my home state:

It was Monday I was digging them up
when I saw a red-tailed hawk swoop down
to snatch a field mouse for breakfast,
a potent little detail too brief 
to be recorded by anyone, anywhere:

a fact I savored as I resumed thrusting
my rusted shovel blade into damp earth
while predicting how high the tallgrass
would get in the prime of midsummer,

after phasing out all the bromides and
destroying the giant underground silos,
the line between sophistry and sophistication
growing more noticeable by the second.


Jessie Sanchez is a poet from Fort Collins, Colorado, who writes about the sublimity in the minutiae of life. The West Texas A&M graduate lives with her husband and three children, and her first full poetry collection is forthcoming this fall from Hidden Peak Press.