Our driveway, PawPaw, Madison County, NC 03312020
I saw it on my walk.
Lifeless in the culvert pipe.
Firm and cool to the touch.
The tail the giveaway.
Hairless, the body possum gray.
Born dead, or aborted from its mother’s pouch.
Perhaps it lost its grip and fell out on its own.
Either way, it’s dead now.
I’m not one to mourn possums.
I don’t like to see them killed randomly.
But when they kill our chickens, they must be dispatched.
They kill in a most gruesome way,
sucking blood from the bird’s neck and head,
leaving the meat to rot.
I won’t worry about this one.
Yet, this baby’s death touched me.
Partly, it was knowing
It would never experience whatever joy a possum feels.
The taste of chicken blood.
Hanging by its tail from tree limbs.
Testing their ability to cheat death by deception.
It would miss all of that, and more, I’m sure.
Rather, my emotion was about the time we’re living in.
Socially distant.
Suspended.
Fretting, worried, scared,
for ourselves, our families, our communities.
Wondering how long this will last and how it will play out.
How will we know when it’s safe to come out and play once again?
Emotion so overwhelming that
the death of a baby possum
leaves me saddened for the world we live in.