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
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