Seed
Everything starts with a seed; this poem, for example. I watered
and watched them every day at first—not able to tell the carrots
from the weeds until the second leaves unfold.
When we got it from the dog’s mouth, it was small, eyes closed,
unmoving on the floor but not dead, not yet. The dog was gentle
with the creature she dug out from under the dresser. What was it,
this outsider? Was it mouse, or squirrel, or rat?
The second leaves are frilled and bright green, small, delicate.
You must thin them, give them room, kill some to save the others.
You try to pick the strongest of the wisps, and trim the others with
scissors, one by one.
Visitors is what the Bible calls angels. In Sodom they were
vulnerable. Their host offers his children to the crowd, to do with
what they please. Kill some to save the others.
Soon after we pry the dog’s mouth, after we gently place the infant
in a bag, after we crush the skull with our heel, weeks later,
we see a mother squirrel carrying a folded baby over half her size
in her mouth. The child clings to her. We watch this mother
teaching this one that’s left to gather leaves from broccoli, fold
them, bunch them into cheeks to carry to safety.
It’s becoming colder at night. We shut our children’s windows
to keep out the cold, to protect. Only some of us are made to see
the Spring.
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: The Night Is What It Eats by Danielle Hanson - September 10, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: The Night Is What It Eats by Danielle Hanson - September 9, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: The Night Is What It Eats by Danielle Hanson - September 8, 2026



