Burial

Burial

We buried her quietly in the front yard,

When the sun had set and the rain had ceased,

The dying light allowing us to dig

A shape just larger than the meager box

That held her body, several-hours cold,

Which we should never have a need to hold.

We had seen her, and her mate, as well

As many groups of children through the years,

The happy couple returning every year

To nest beside a creek, and waddle by

The same old busy streets, and stop to eat

Beneath some feeders in a neighbor’s yard.

And here they were, the family at this feast

So readily at hand, habituating them

To bear the presence of people all around,

When out of nowhere and without a care

One careless, reckless driver in a rush

Struck her, mother mallard, and just drove on…

“She’s dead,” I heard and looked upon

Her still and silent form cradled so tenderly,

Thus cradled while alive and as she died;

So light yet bearing all the weight of death,

She seemed as though asleep, but no—

She slept forever, dead by a single blow.

We sowed some sweet alyssum seeds upon her grave

And apologized in vain for our so-selfish race

While bearing all the weight of needless death,

Of all the suffering wrought by human hands

And the cold machines that we have built in vain

To keep their blood off of our blood-stained hands.

Image credit: Catherine Munro, from Wikimedia Commons, under a Creative Commons License.