A mother possum crawled down the chimney
the spring Donny came to us
because both sets of his parents had kicked him out,
the same April after your dad and I divorced
when you kicked a hole in the dining room wall.
The possum was swollen with young
she would later carry, half-grown, on her back
or hanging from her thick, hairless tail.
“An oversized rat with maternal instincts,”
your dad once said.