Of Crows and Possums

Sitting on a long deck At a trailer In South Georgia Wind in the Pine Trees Reading Nathaniel Hawthorne My stomach is empty except for this longing and guilt A murder of Crows loudly soar through Creasing the boughs of the Pines It is only Them and I And Love that I left Love that I lost A hollow serenity settles in I pull at the Scarlet Letter Blazing on my chest Hester exposed As the Sun sets A Possum skirts the front yard Unnoticing me He is my Kinfolk An eater of ticks An old world scavenger Deceiving the world Playing dead Yet I cannot The blood on my hands isn't mine