You must sit down and taste. —George Herbert
That morning, Gilmore and Mary Frances
sacrificed a lamb for us.
Gilmore said,
With a cool hand,
I slit the throat,
the lamb did not suffer.
We gathered around the lambskin-draped picnic table.
Direct from the open fire,
we ate everything.
The kidney was the best.
It was tiny—
we shared.
We ate
the ribs,
the shanks,
the liver,
the lungs,
the heart.
With a stick, Frances turned the intestines inside out
and washed them with canyon water.
Greenish liquid dribbled into a bucket.
The bundles of intestines, like braids,
sizzled on the open fire.