Early Harvest, Gusto Press

Herewith, the latest selection from dusted-off published poetry and short fiction, circa 1970s vintage and beyond....

The Tiny Perfect Form

I almost stepped on it
the tiny perfect form
still on the forest path
unlike its normal state
a perpetual motion machine
with voracious appetite
to assuage metabolic hunger
this, nature's dynamo.

Dead. A peace in its
unaccustomed quietude.
The grey fur sleeking its
fat little body, not yet
cold and hard
tiny legs and paws
upsticking, comically

but there is no cause
for humour in this cessation.
Sharp snout pointing
to the dense forest
siding the path
and predator's teeth visible
in its frozen mouth.

Sad to look on it
glad not to have stepped on it
and wonder why no sexton beetle
or carrion-eating bird
has not yet carried it away.
Wonder whether it was merely
old age that did.

c. 1980 Rita Rosenfeld