The blackbird has gone maggoty
Lara stiffs at it
shakes a grub off her wet nose
Then as if fiction were uncannily real
another similar bird drops out of a tree.
For a short while it flutters
turning in a circle around a broken neck.
Lara looks at me as if to say,
‘What the heck?’
Now the bird is still
one eye open to the sky.
I can see clouds reflected in its eye
but soon just cloudiness
as life departs.
Lara again does her sniffing thing.
We walk on smelling the sweetness
of Fall leaves as they rot into October.
This is a time
when death and its dissolution
is still aromatic,
pungent enough to mask
the seasons fatal embrace.
Lara sniffs at a loose pile of fallen leaves
as if they were an open grave.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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