ManicDDaily

Still Life

I’m drawn to fresh road kill
as life stilled –so, I tell myself.
All those beautiful bits–the shimmer normally hidden
by slither, the rich stranding
of too-fast fur, the swath of scarlet
that fly-by only flashes,
laid out flat,
unresistant to swish of air, much less
perusal, each detail more delineated than in a Dürer,
a tableau.

But on that tar or gravel,
there’s death stilled too – and I confess here that it draws
with even greater force–the de-sparked
luster–fellow-feeling flattening me who stands above,
as the double helix that we share openly snares us–
clumsy me/adaptive them–
yet none of us animals that can survive
the push of metal, the susurration
of age, the mighty bustle of decay–
all our wondrous bodies faced some time
with a road we cannot get cross.

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Here’s sort of a draft poem for dVerse Poets Pub’s Poetics prompt on finding beauty
in odd places, hosted by Fred/Hobgoblin of Poetical Psyche.  I am also posting for With Real Toads (Open Link).