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Musings #74 - Dare I Speak of Heaven? (published in Roanoke Review)



Wild rabbit, stillborn – discovered

in a hunt for bright-colored eggs

hidden among the tulips.


The child doesn’t know what it is,

what it means – looks to me

for clue, some reaction. Last week,


we watched a blue spruce

cut down in its prime.  She leaned

back in my arms to look at my face. 


I said, This is sad.  Bowing her head

on my shoulder, she sighed,

I’m sad too. To cheer us, I showed her


the stump, woodchips and sawdust

that bugs and worms will turn to soil.

This time, I want to cover her eyes,


hide this stillness.  I don’t know

what to say – some things

perish before first pulse and beat. 


We wrap the tiny form in tissue

and newspaper, dig a shallow hole

in the shade of an oak,


then say, Goodbye.

Enough for now.   


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