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| Scientists Discover that birds are adapting to Chenobyl Radiation (2014) |
This dream is fragmented –
I pick through the remains, a small pile
of dark feathers, soft to the touch
and too easily rubbed to ashes between
my thumb and fingertip,
slowly piecing it together, laying out
the ink-black quills
and overlapping each plume
in hopes of finding order
amid the chaos.
Will this bird ever fly again,
a raven over Chenobyl?
Written for Bjorn's Weekend Prompt in The Imaginary Garden: Chenobyl and Our Fears
Very prescient image, rubbing the ashes of raven wondering if gone is ever truly gone in the nuclear age. Surely the wrong ape was handed the burning tuber from Zeus; whatever gifts of mind Prometheus was said to have (his name translates alternately as "forethought"; his brother Epimetheus translates as "afterthought"), we only have enough of the former to be immensely dangerous to the planet, and enough of the latter to mourn the fact. Great little compact and dangerous poem.
ReplyDeleteHow apt are the meanings of the names? You are bang on target in your commentary, too little consideration before the fact, and too little commiseration after.
DeleteI always appreciate your insights, B. They spur me on to the next piece.
Rubbing the disintegrating feathers is so powerful an image. As are ravens over Chernobyl. Wonderfully done, Kerry.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sherry.
DeleteI love your approach to the topic... the raven who slowly fades into ashes is like a symbol of ourselves... to me the raven is wisdom, but sometimes folly of humans wins over wisdom.
ReplyDeleteThis was a great prompt, Bjorn. One of my untold fears is my own nightmares, so this coupled very well with the horror of nuclear meltdown.
DeleteA good depiction of possible life after death. I love the tone and feel of this.
ReplyDeleteThank you for stopping by to read, Viv.
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