Rainy morning following a rainy night
and the little creek where my young sons
played recklessly rubber rafting after
a storm, shooting under the street
to come out on the other side
now rushes by without them.
In the woods lately my dogs
have been troubling the rotting
carcass of a snapping turtle caught
in the roots of a creek-bound tree.
I hope this steady rain has
whooshed it on downstream
making one less spot for me to avoid
out there where creatures lay just
as they’ve fallen
without ceremony
or marker.
For three weeks now in those woods
a cross, flowers and candles
have stood guard over the memory
of a young girl younger by far
than all my sons who seems
to have flung her life away
from atop the bluff
all her hope somehow
fallen to none.
And just that morning I
anticipating the return home
of my two far-flung sons
had wandered with my dogs
in our carefree way
those very woods
where that girl sought
solace by choosing
an end to the only thing
we ever truly own.
