By Lisa Huddleston
In a world where dead toddlers wash onto uncaring shores
Where men brag about their power to take a woman’s body
Where unborn children are discarded as so much refuse
And treaties mean nothing when oil is the goal
Why does road kill still make me cry?
Stiff possums and skunks and misplaced cats and dogs
Once fluffy and soft but now dirtied by death and hard
Buzzards feast and flop away when my car drives near
No road kill in their kind
They are the eaters, the takers, the clumsy clearer-away-ers
The woods are raped of ancient trees
The fields are bush-hogged and rolled
Subdivisions are named Rolling Hills or Deer Trace
But all that is left is just a trace
And now we fight the black snake
Striving to keep it in the ground
To protect the great waters of the river
“Water is Life” for today as well as for tomorrow
Oil can’t be drunk
Oil can’t be eaten
Oil can’t make the grasses or the vegetables grow
But oil can kill the water
Everything once had its place, and it was very good
Fish in the rivers
Deer in the woods
Buffalo on the plains
Snakes in the grass and under the ground
And the road kill multiplies as we do
Feeding the vultures of the world
Coaxing the water of life from my eyes
To let me know I am not numb
I am not dead
Water is Life