Poems by River Hall

A Poem for Roadkill

by River Hall

From Canary Fall 2020

River lives beside a seasonal creek upon a solitary ridge of ancient land, which has been slowly carved away by the mighty Snoqualmie River to the east and Patterson Creek to the west. She acknowledges the Snoqualmie People (the People of the Moon) who have lived, hunted, and fished here as long as the earth and rivers remember.

What if we pulled over,
got close enough to feel the death-rattle
shake the air against our skin?

Offered regret for getting in the way
with our roads, our tires, our glass?

What if we didn’t abandon them
to the cement until there was nothing
but a dark stain, a rope of hide, a splintered bone?

What if we cupped the dwindling warmth
of the struck bird?

Held it long enough that it cooled in our hands,
shed tears onto the feathers of bent throat and broken wing?

What if we took them to the woods,
an offering given over in kinship with maggot and crow?

What if we took the time to give them to the soil,
death greening life for future living?

What if broken raccoon, stilled possum and lagging deer fawn
were adorned with roadside flowers and grieved?
Piled high by passersby with the dandelion, hawksbeard, red clover
—the beautiful weeds.

Previously appeared in Tinderbox Poetry Journal.