POEM: Raccoon Lost His Gaze

I too picked that spot

Felt like I could die

A perfect spot

Cradled in the folds of the tree trunk

A small width of land

And then a depression

To hang my legs into

A place where other roots once lived

It must have fallen last year

Only the small ground cover had filled in

I was resting at the cross-roads

Four miles into the swamp

On a lonely trail

Waiting for the devil

Or anyone else

To hop along and pass the time of day

Until my traveling companions returned

I had opted to rest

They had chosen to explore

And I had hours to myself

Resting and waiting and whittling

A small stick and a slice of time

Letting the thoughts breathe in and out

The ground cover matched the lump of fur

That I hadn’t noticed before

A small startle and a measured examination

A small noise

No response

A larger noise

Still nothing

Must be dead

Hope he isn’t playing

I’m too tired to run away

Would probably just let him maul me

But it wasn’t necessary

He was dead

Resting in the same hole I had picked out

Resting on the new growth

Sheltered from the elements

This raccoon had lost his gaze

Hid from the weather

Under the earthy overhang

And the world let him rest

And passed him by

Suddenly I wasn’t so tired

Felt I could step out of that hole

Leave the tree seat behind

Find my tribe

A little more aware of my mortality

I left the devil at the crossroads

Never shook his hand

Found my own son further down the trail

Gave my hand to him instead

Pulled him back out of the swamp

Along a dusty trail

Under the shadow of the cypress

And the canopy of the loblolly pine