Tail of the Squirrel

Even though the change is gradual, it always feels as if the trees turn green overnight, cleansing the sky of the blacks-and-blues of winter and bringing a fresh dose of hope. I love looking up at the blue sky when it is feathered by thousands of leaves, all of them new, and unafraid, like babies.

The leaves have no way of knowing that they are destined to live for only one season, or that they might be pockmarked by bug eggs, or that one of us might come along and carelessly tear one or two of them from a branch. But if they did know, would they stop unfurling? Would they stay in their tight little buds, waiting for the perfect moment to be a leaf?

The other day, driving through my neighborhood, I noticed a tail all by itself on the road. It was the soft, fluffy tail of a gray squirrel. They are plentiful here, and for me, beloved, even though I've had to buy a special squirrel-proof bird feeder. Sometimes I buy raw peanuts in the shell, but the blue jays steal the peanuts before the squirrels find them. I will have to buy a lot more next time.

Anyhow, there was this tail, glued to the road by a squirrel, who would never be a squirrel again.

I am working on a poem about it. This is a hard poem to write, much harder than the ones about the happy aspects of nature. It is especially hard to write it short, and still manage to say something. This was a real squirrel, but as I think about what happened, the squirrel begins to feel like a metaphor for our fallen soldiers, on my mind because Monday was Memorial Day, and for their sake, I will not look away.

My name is Rae Hallstrom, and Ameriku is my art and my business and my brand.

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