Consigned to Fate? (Worst day of the year)


My arms are briar patches, little scratches everywhere,
An eggshell kind of fracture, unnatural and rare.
Small rivulets of blood, little inlets running red,
A stinging sharp exaction that can’t distract my stare:

I watch but know the outcome, a shout of premonition
Predicts a loud commotion, eyes wide with bowed volition
I follow vines of rustling leaves marking where the feline fled—
To narrow road, a speeding truck, a quick and sick sedition.

No honk, no screeching tires, the driver never knew.
But wait, there’s movement—improvement?  Life anew?
No, only spastic blood-splashed spewings, the last dance of the dead,
A chorus of horrible yowling, then, one final tender mew.

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13 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Russ L
    Dec 10, 2013 @ 08:49:07

    Good, but tragic and sad.

    Reply

    • wordcoaster
      Dec 10, 2013 @ 11:42:08

      Yes, this was the poem I knew I had to write, but tried not to for a few months because it was too painful. In the meantime, though, it was hard to write other poems; they felt uncalled for and irreverent.

      Reply

  2. viewingcamelot
    Dec 10, 2013 @ 09:55:58

    That’s heartrending.

    Reply

    • wordcoaster
      Dec 10, 2013 @ 11:50:04

      Yes, it was awful. Awful. Many of my narrative poems are fiction or are based loosely on a real event, but this one was completely true. I was trying to carry my neighbor’s cat back to their house since he had gotten up to the boulevard and I didn’t want him to get hit by a car. At first, he agreed readily to this plan, but after only a handful of steps he had second thoughts, fought me for his freedom, and made a mad dash for the street and the ONE car there. 😦

      Reply

  3. viewingcamelot
    Dec 10, 2013 @ 15:03:28

    😦 That’s so very sad. 😦 As a vessel for that sorrow, this is a beautiful poem.

    Reply

  4. viewingcamelot
    Dec 11, 2013 @ 00:12:30

    It really carried that childlike gut reaction that follows us in paler shades as adults. I’m not sure what the word for that feeling is. Something like the can’t-rewind-desperations. When you try to protect something so small, and then the worst happens right there, and you can’t stop it- it’s awful. I’ve held an animal in my arms during its final throes, after she was struck by a vehicle. 😦 I forgot how sad it felt until this poem, and now I remember very well.

    Reply

  5. viewingcamelot
    Dec 11, 2013 @ 16:04:52

    You’d think Misery would’ve had enough company by now- two’s a company, what’s she up to by now?

    Reply

  6. viewingcamelot
    Dec 11, 2013 @ 17:42:55

    🙂 She’s exhausting to be around.

    Reply

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Because Russ L asked

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