Katrina Kaye

This is the third day
I have crossed the shady bridge
connecting woodland road to freeway,
and the squirrel is still there. 

Its white belly bloated skyward,
rodent mouth agape with
bucked teeth displayed, 
crippled foot poked with bones
emerging from fur cover.

 If I was home, I would bury the body.
Place what was left in shallow grave,
say a word of passing, but I am not home. 

I am a thousand miles from the comforts I know.
I am shovelless and I mourn that which I cannot change
as I watch the rot, helpless to the decay. 

I am observer only,
unable to partake 

to act
to initiate change 

unable to do more than witness.

It is not unlike the tragedy that
flashes our screens relentlessly,
the yelps from Mother Earth as she
floods and shakes and burns to the
hate and greed that continues to
overwhelm the hearts of men.

The differences we are told we can
make are so small, so fragile, and so
easily undone. They seem near nonexistent and,
like caring about a dead squirrel on the side of the road,
do not change anything.

I am helpless
to do anything more than watch
as our world, once alive and
strong and beautiful,

continues to decompose.  

 

 

Available Now – September 22, 2026

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