The dead raccoon

The dead raccoon

I’ve been talking to the crows.
They don’t really listen.
They just cock their heads and give me the eye –
And then they begin to caw,
All of them right over my head as if…
As if I have nothing important to say.
I tell them about the dead raccoon
I discovered on our walkway this morning.
I steel myself as I go get the shovel from the garage
and begin to try to shove it up under the raccoon.
The raccoon is stiff and falls from the shovel.
I talk to the crows telling them about
the hard time I am having.
They continue to walk about the yard –
ignoring me.
Give me a break, I mutter.
Please. Somebody, give me a break.
Nobody listens as I carry it across the yard
as it falls from the shovel – several times.
At one point I begin to whimper,
Pleasepleasepleaseplease.
I don’t know why this dead raccoon
has upset me so badly.
My husband at work told me to grab
a shovel and throw it in the woods.
My best friend called me from Tennessee
and told me to grab a shovel
and throw it in the woods.
The crows follow behind me
or skip in front of me on the way to the woods.
I finally reach the woods and
dump the raccoon onto the ground.
I turn but then….
Visions of those murdered children
pop into my head.
I begin to dig.
As I dig, I talk to my friend
the Old Oak.
He is silent.
I begin to dig.
Why me? I whimper.
Why those kids? I weep.
Nobody listens.
Nobody cares.
I tamp the earth down over the raccoon
and place several rocks
on the grave.
The crows fly away
still ignoring me.

For Kerry’s Prompt at Real Toads – a one-sided conversation, written for a silent and even disinterested audience, because poetry is an aspect of individual creativity that goes beyond literary appreciation or criticism.

Weight of Crows

or Angies prompt at Real Toads. We are to choose a list and write a poem from the words.
solace trace pause over
inwardness sweat reflect beginning
need forgiveness unfolding back
thanks weight years ahead

Weight of Crows
Today is the umpteenth anniversary
of your decision to return to Japan.
My words are like a weight around my neck,
a murder of crows hanging upside down
their feet tied with pink ribbons.
A trace of sweat sneaks down my face
And dribbles down onto my keyboard.
I look for forgiveness from you.
I truly loved you but now I must
let you go.
I should have done this years ago
but the love hangs around my neck
Like a murder of crows.

public domain photo

dVerse Poets Pub: Open Link Night #194

Today is Open Link Night at the Pub. You can submit one poem of your choice of format and subject. I picked crows. There are apparently several prompts out there today regarding crows but I am not linking to any of them. Come visit us at dVerse! PS I also have other names for groups of crows hidden in my poem. http://dversepoets.com/2017/04/20/openlinknight-194/

The Crows are telling Stories
The crows are telling stories –
sitting on the wire
flying down to take a look-see
hovering over a parcel of worms
and pulling up a worm or two
mustering the troops to attack a hawk

The crows are telling stories –
squawking barking cackling
whistling squabbling cawing
their outlaw eyes weighing their options
their rivals their lovers
their nestlings

The crows are telling stories
arguing that it will rain
will remain dry
lifting their heavy wings
and swatting at the wind
and each other

The crows are telling stories.

%d bloggers like this: