Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Chase a ghost

On the side of the cement trail,
naked rib cage curling into the sky,
broken spine crushed into the dry earth.
Too big to be a rat or a squirrel,
too small to be a human, and the vertebrae
 the diameter of a toddler's sticky fist.
Surely the prey of some moldy goddess,
half-chested, grieving with her arrows,
a prayer, an offering to the flesh eaters
and spindly dandelion roots, desperate
for the fertile soil of another new Spring.