There Are Foxes in the Alley

In the overgrown city-planner’s alley, an earth
of foxes are home. Three pups tumble
and roll and nip as momma’s ears stand, flicking
through noise, radioing in on mice and me,
but she’s decided to take no offense
to the purple dead nettles’ rustle beneath my feet
my peanut butter breakfast on my breath. So I watch
these, the bunny culprits, who’ve taken over

last spring’s warren and made burrows wider, who’ve
persuaded away most of the English Ivy and Virginia Creeper,
who’ve heaped dirt from their burrow to sun on, and I
resist the itch to unloose myself, tell someone,
to be outside of this moment. And kits run-hop in
and out of another tenant’s long-ago discarded flower pots.









Angelina Oberdan has an MFA in Creative Writing (Poetry) from McNeese State University and usually writes cross-legged on the living room floor before grading too many composition papers. Some of her poems have been published or are forthcoming in journals including Yemassee, Cold Mountain Review, and Southern Indiana Review. Her informal musings—and those of her dogs—are on her website: www.OAngelina.com