from the pen of icarus blake

Oh, Coyote, all your wiles come to naught in the headlights on the highway. By morning, your blood dried brown on the concrete, body shattered and thrown aside in shocked repose while your killer thundered ever onward.

Dear Squirrel, did you dream of your last flight through the air? The last coil of your spring-legs ached sweetly. Would you lose grip on your branch and feel the wind in your fur as you fell, eyes slipping closed on the long way down? For I know you didn’t dream of your body contorting in the air, unaware you were dead before you hit the sidewalk. The man behind the wheel noticed not your final flight.

Doe Deer, your nipples swollen with milk, your fawn waits for you still as your abdomen swells. What brought you here, to the wide swath of asphalt through the fields? The semis roar by in endless sequence, reflected in your glassy eyes. I see you for only a moment as we race by at 85.

Sparrow and Butterfly in your dance of death, to eat or be eaten in the heat-shimmer of summer air two feet above a small town main street. The SUV didn’t see you, crushing vellum wings and hollow bones into its grille as the soccer mom inside trundled past. I saw you, though, and my stomach dropped in swift terror as you were both swept away.

Sweet Pigeon, your blood is on my hands and the dusty imprint of your final frantic flapping sticks to the hood of my car. I didn’t see you fall on the road, but the city forgives no gentle being of flesh and bone. I only hope you left us quickly.