in the dirt, on a side road
a few cars blurring past
vultures floating the circles
high above the road.
Bones -white without flesh-
bones forgotten beside the
road.
Bones unnoticed beside the
road.
Partial skull, one side of a
pelvis.
No last rites, no taps, no
obituary.
No eulogy.
Was there a sound,
a gasp at the end?
Did anyone notice day after day
as flesh rotted away
maggots had their fill
bones became white in the
ditch
white silence, deafening.
All the dead animals
All through time
All food for others
All part of a plan.
In biology books. In God’s
book?
Georgia O’Keefe bones on
canvas
known and unknown
seen and unseen.
Deep roots hold sacred
stories
under trees shading the
ditch.
We must notice, and remember.
And remember not to know too
much.
We must remember.
Another vulture circles down
the road.
An airplane flies above the
vulture.
Thirty thousand feet above
the ditch
On a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
Christina Bellamy
No comments:
Post a Comment