Smell of blood
thick-mixed with soil

in the air here above where
an animal fell,

where there is a depression
formed as it thrashed its last

at the root of the oak. Tiny bites of fur
from its coat cling to the bark.

The body itself is gone,
taken by its hunter or perhaps another

who needed it. I am not skilled enough
to tell by blood or hair what was here,

but it was big. It must have lived
at least a full lifetime to be that heavy;

heavy living that led to heavy lifting.
What remains floats in the air, lighter

than its death would suggest but still
thick-laden with mysterious red flavor,

and I cannot help it. I cannot help but suck that in.
I cannot help how heavy I’ve become.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

One response to “Heavy

  • Eileen

    Been in a deep dark hole, but Spring is helping and I resurrected something I wrote a long time ago that is slowly greening out from prayer to hope to experience:
    I hunger to be born again,
    to take my hurts and failures
    and mulch them into new beginnings,
    to turn them into fertile fields
    of understanding and compassion,
    to experience again the greening out
    of the frozen landscapes in my life
    and gain a rich new Spring perspective
    that builds on leaves and logs of yesteryear
    to bring forth the ripe good fruit of love.

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