I do not find it that difficult
to know anymore
what is real and what is fake.
a young mother buries her murdered
high school daughter who made the decision
to go to school that day as usual
our president played with a porn star
his wife too distracted after childbirth
to pay him proper attention
just this morning an ordinary brown and tan finch lay
defeathered, picked apart on my porch cement—
had it seen the blue sky reflected
in our glassed door and flown full flight
into solid surface? Our cat likely
finished the job because
that is what cats do with twitching feathery things.
I followed my normal practice
of handling dead small animals
gently picked up the carcass and carried it
beneath a ginkgo tree to a planter
that holds perennial lemon balm
quiet underground now in early March
and I dug out a handful of black dirt
enough to lay the body to rest, then
covered it, patted down the soil and
said a prayer:
Help me to remember
when I see you again
at depth and always
we are lemon balm in full flower.