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  • Janet Orlene

Caskets and scurrying squirrels

Open

That gilded casket.

Her cold body

Lies stiff,

As cold

And

As frigid

As her mother’s thoughts.

A new victim,

The prey must feed upon,

When hungry.

It seem to remain

A pleasant garden

When you plant it

Tidily

In rows and columns,

Hedges and climbers,

Creepers too.

Until the plants

Choke each other

And

One

Arises

As

The Victor

To conquer

Most of the

Space

And food.

Nothing exists

In ultimate harmony.

This life

Is a battlefield.

The choicest of

Wars to pick

From a bouquet.

Questioning everything

Always dampens

The earth

On and on

Without a warning,

Perhaps a tsunami

Perhaps

As gently and unexpectedly

As a baby

Still in its diapers,

Pissing when it does,

Not when it needs to.

Somewhere outside

A squirrel runs

And stops

To squeak

Before scurrying away.

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