What Kind of an Animal Would Do That

There's blood everywhere and a throat full of rabbits. Intent is what happens
to others. There's a still life with everything but the animal: a collar of
rain; the necessary fences and houses; hands that unlocked doors; feet that
tried to keep anything useful or delicious away. The world is raw and you
can't see the animal coming.

The animal sifts through its instincts to find just the right one. The animal
believes in itself, a fur of feeling rising against its teeth, obstacles to overcome,
sky opening up a field with something of interest. Nothing can be
ignored, not an afternoon that doesn't know where it is or crows showing
their concern. The animal hears the music of other animals. The smell of
something small and soft falling. It can't resist and the animal is grasped
suddenly by what hurts it. It can't be saved. Air abandons the animal.
Trees pass by and the last human voices are congratulating one another.
Somebody's yard fills with a breeze. As soon as the animal dies, another
one takes its place.

Copyright © 2008 Laurie Blauner All rights reserved
from The Bitter Oleander
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission