Four days without cigarettes
and how can I whine when dry
snow drifts in the cold and the sea
takes one hundred thousand leaving
survivors to the care and predations
of strangers. I pull my quilts
around me, this knitted scarf, this
crocheted hat, these dogs to keep
me warm with no need to think
of eating them. The sea now
peopled with inedible creatures,
half-fish half-human. One does not
fork the flesh of one's brother. The
animals ran before them to high
ground and hidden places, elephants
clambering with their great sensitive
feet away, away from the trembling
earth and the demoned sea. Junkos
feed on the seed I've scattered on
the snow. Siskins wait at the squirrel
feeder. Will those who are left grow
into disappointment that none are who
they lost this day? Or will they find
in each other some consoling love?
--
Sharon Brogan
http://www.sbpoet.com
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