Trying Not to Write Roadkill
Deleted a poem
about running over the dead possum,
but I wanted to tell you rot-skin
and describe its waterlog stench.
Almost told you how the sky pillowed,
matched its color to possumfur.
I wanted to tell you
how the canopy of old trees were roof
or tunnel of green,
about the bald vulture and backbone,
the nostalgia. So much never made it
to the poem.
14 thoughts on "Trying Not to Write Roadkill"
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“bald vulture and backbone” is the phrase of the day. Lovely.
Thanks, Bernie Deville!
dead skunk worked for
loudon wainwright iii,
dead opossum works for you
Thanks, Jim Lally
love this, shaun!
Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it!
love the different levels of formality–moving from “rot-skin” to “pillowed” (Keats, “Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast”)
Thanks, Dr. Bedetti. I appreciate being compared to anything remotely Keatsean 😛
Exquisite poem! Effective repeat of “I wanted to tell you…Almost told you.” That image of “the sky pillowed, / matched its color to possumfur” took my breath away. Loved the ending line “So much never made it / to the poem.” — But you lied. So much MADE IT into this poem.
Thank you so much. I’m glad it made it.
I had written a really terrible poem, but I really liked pieces of it. I wanted to talk about this moment which was funny and sad and gross, but also how it reminded me of another moment from when I was a child. But then the whole thing became an exercise almost of what it means to document, to want to show something.
Captured so much in this. Great piece!
Thank you, HB Elam!
Poets write about all things living and dead, and that is why poetry is alive.
Yessss!