Wild Nights—Wild Nights! 

Were I with thee 

Wild Nights should be 

Our luxury!

—Emily Dickinson 

Mrs. O'Possum looks at her litter of eight 

and shudders. 

This is going to take some getting used to, she thinks. 

The wind rustles her coat,

her eyes close in memory of Mr. O'Possum, 

lately of The Woods

who went foraging one cool evening and never returned. 

The wind picks up. 

His legacy is, oh, I hate to say it, hideous. 

But, the nights we had, she thinks. Wild Nights, Wild Nights!

I reckon these are faces only a mother can love.

She sighs, 

lies on her side, affording access. 

Mind the teeth, darlings.