When I was ten.
I met a skunk.
This animal I connected with.
The skunk has since died.
I saw that same skunk today, again.
Saw the skunk lay dead on the road.
Splattered road kill.
And all that I could think.
Was how sad I was.
It made me sad to see my friend there on the road.
With the foul odor. . . emanating.
This unmistakable odor filled the air across that murder scene.
And as I drove by to see my friend, the dead animal . . .
spoke nothing. Never did anything to deserve this fate.
And as I reminisce. . .
like a magic bullet - invisible only to those who could not truly see.
I wish that they could have my special ability -
to see my skunk friend,
having given me the keys to life.
A life that I should feel empowered by my own volition.
My volition to make others see and not be seen. Is such a lie -
not the same rules followed by that game of hide-and-seek children play?
I find myself so utterly complete, now.
That the skunk is spreading that awful aroma to remind us how shallow we are.
The skunk was probably just trying to find its way to nowhere.
Because that is nature's destination - the place that has no real name
Something like the mother's womb. (The skunk never a name was given.)
But this game shows us how to defeat ourselves.
The hide-and-seek we look to find our way home without knowing,
where or how the direction takes us,
because that cold cold air passage that travels throughout time.
Is it real or what is not.
We find our way. . . out to the middle of nowhere.
To find the mother's womb.
Even that skunk had a name.
I just forgot to name it.
(end.)