Raccoon

 Apparently raccoons
dig french fries,
or whatever they can get.
I’m not gonna disturb
this little guys meal.
Nothing’s biting tonight
except for the mosquitoes.
I’ve got the bumps
and the itching to prove it.
I found the secondary river –

your river of mud.
I followed it
to see where it would lead me
because I’m naturally curious.
I breathed in it
because I’m not too good for such things.
I coughed,
and I spit,
and I’m still alive.
I’m a better man for it,
though it burns up my throat.
It still has that Earth taste
you told me you love.
I will not be slowed or discouraged
though downed trees block my path.
I can go around
or

   v e
o      r

or

u   e  r
  n d

because I am flexible and resilient.
Though I am diminished now
I will return to form
right before your eyes.
I told you I won’t mourn
another second longer.
Experience this with me,
these dark woods,
my new pet raccoon,
and the seven – hundred mosquito bites.
How do you spell defiant?
That’s me.
I am bent,
but not broken.
Mud caked and pockmarked,
tarnished, coughing,
and altogether lovely.

I RISE!

Because that is what I do.
Here I am in my weakened state.
I shall spin my cocoon
of artichoke silk
and emerge a new spirit.
Pick through the tough leaves.
Pick through the purple and violet.
Pick right through the heart.
Now it’s lying in pieces, broken.
Make some salad with the torn pieces of my
broken 10 – for 10
One-dollar heart.
Toss in some lemon juice,
with capers and fresh thyme,
and you have a lovely and worthless Mediterranean salsa.
Don’t undercook it.
You want to be able to bite
right through the flesh.
You paid for it
you earned it.
I’m sick and anemic.
For now.
Wait till I rise.
It’s night in the forest,
but there’s still sun on the road.
And there I will head.