A Fraternity of Jackals

we invited him into our home—
a ripe almond jackal with blackened eyes,
orange by the glow of fire,
starving but for a maw of scrapwood
that bloodied his gums and
spat a red poison he coughed
onto our rug, begging
for crisped pork fat to lessen
the cut of his ribs.

we boiled our parsnips and ginger
until the steam rose his fur
to the coat of a tyrant,
clam-dyed and gilded by the light
of a sunset who sunk
into the churning slick of his digestion,
pearl teeth gleaming when we asked
if he needed anything else
besides the throne he wove of our bedsheets
and dog skins.

in the night,
he stole our daughter and left
her dress at the door,
unfastened.