cutting flowers in sun a pinched caterwauling behind no sign of a child peek around the dogwood glimpse a grey cat passing in its mouth a small eastern cottontail now silent limp dangles by the neck the cat walks body beneath to the evergreen shade rips at its prize I am near trying to see cat disappears I go around fence's other side wide-eyed rabbit sees me begins to move from side lying to upright and staggering comes toward me toward the fence pokes nose through slats where a sale flyer rests it retracts stops in the sun I back away look over the fence see the bright red hanging out along its side toward the back muscle bone or organ I don't know second wound behind it stays put I curse the cat not finishing off am I to blame? not my place not my yard no one home and no gun only hammer shovel spade and would not reach I walk away the robins hop the sun shines the flowers beam I go inside write this
So did you carry around a poem in your pocket all day yesterday and share it with others? Wonderful! I didn’t, but I did present my own poem for review at my writers group.
For this blog’s “Wild Verses: Bits of Nature Poetry” series last summer, showcasing excerpts of my original work, I shared two bits of the poem “If I Had Known” in the first and the seventh post out of ten.
For Earth Day, enjoy five more lines from “If I Had Known” that focus on the predator-prey relationships of wildlife:
that kills can be as bold as water-cat jaguar spiking alligator-cousin caiman, skull to brain, with fangs longer than the face seems to fit,
that fauna form peculiar teams, mixing . . . in mutual defense and pack-style attack
copyright C. L. Tangenberg
Here, kitty, kitty . . .