Something Uninvited

Photo: (c) Brenda Clements Jones

“No good ol'coon,” they’d say,

brown-spotted, tongue-lulling

hounds baying

at the base of the tall, grey

poplar, standing stark, innocent

in the pickup’s fierce, white headlights.

It, the tree, has no desire to host this killing,

screaming as a tree screams.

Unable to run.

I imagine them laughing like drunken men do,

gravity

delivering the still-spirited mass with a thud.

I won’t say what happens next.

But, this evening, you are our secret.

And, here I stand in dark chill of night,

glancing up at the first stars,

contemplating what I want to feel.

There are options:

Do I fluster and furiously call you,

“Thief!”?

I could. Yes, I could.

Or, I could

take a deep in-breath and, ah wonderment:

I could set my sites on praise for your cleverness

and skillful hand-paws.

                I could. Yes, I could.

How would you know that the thick, pasty

block of lard and little seeds was bought

– with my hard earned money –

for what makes me happy in the daylight hours?

It wasn’t meant for you.

Darn it.

But,

why not for you?

Yes,

it’s a worthwhile question.

I see the thinness of your winter belly.

The thrill in your eyes.

The hope that I’ll come no closer,

and, oh please, leave an escape route open.

Yes. I see

how you are holding it to your heart.

How you are praying.

Yes, I see how

sometimes we need to change our plans;

Something uninvited can come along,

and, oh look here, a new opportunity

to love.

Breath in.

*

I say:

“How very clever you are, Love.”

“Run.”

© 2014-2016/Jamie K. Reaser

From: ""Winter: Reflections by Snowlight"
Published by Hiraeth Press (www.hiraethpress.com)

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