Someone

Someone

is out near the road

crying.

Are they on it,

by it, two miles

away?

I don’t know,

but someone,

not something,

not it,

nor inanimate

is howling, yowling,

hollering

to be heard.

And I do.

Somewhere

out there near the asphalt

where mechanical

beasts

hunt dawn to dusk, tireless,

except for the ones

that never cease

for walkers, runners,

tailed, winged or

horned,

there is a panic

unrelenting yet weary

as if spirit

has already learned

the end

of this story.

Eternal

is the ki-yi

that resonates

on the gravel where we

learn what not enough

truly means.

It is a lie.

Because

when it is someone

weeping

out in the distance

there is no difference

between us

and them.

And I have heard their

prayers.

When we fall, bright lights

and villages

save us.

But they stay

on the road, by it,

or two miles away,

desperately searching

for solace,

for someone

to hold them, listen.

Someone

is out near

the road, and I

can’t find them,

but I can still hear

their cries.

***

Hello, wanderer,

I wrote this poem months ago but haven’t had the urge to publish it. Yesterday, I saw a black cat on the highway. I’m releasing this now in memoriam.

If, like me, you wonder what can we do do help all the someones out there, learning about wildlife crossings seems a great place to start.

xoxo, for now,

-your friend