hole in the snow

from far off
was just a tiny black dot
in a spotless white blanket

but up close
was rimmed red
with dugup clumps
of bloody rabbit fur

the scars left
of terror below
by hunger above

later that spring
after snow had gone
and birds were back to sing
the russet red flash of a fox
slipped by the rock wall
before we could even turn to see it

no one said a thing
until someone pointed back
and said look
to where six little kits
tumbled into view behind
gamboling their way
down the hill
in and out of line

so cuute
everyone cooed

me too

though the scab
of a terrible truth
still hadn’t healed