The Brinson Cemetery from Canoochee Bypass

For the Buzzards, a poem

For the Buzzards

Doing his job by sight and smell
Inspecting making the place safe
For his humans the big dog
Killed a baby bunny.

With just a squeak
Instant death
The tiny skull crushed
To half the original size.

My friend
Also known as
The bridge
Assisted the holy innocent

In making the journey across
Blessing it wishing it
Safe travels
To the other side

And thanking it
For the powerful medicine
It bestowed upon us
Upon its death —

Creativity
Intuition
Paradox
Fear.

We searched for a suitable spot
Where the transition could conclude
Without any further aid from us and found
The little old town’s

Well-used cemetery
Complete with three tall crosses
One taller than the other two
Of course.

We chose the corner
Farthest from them all
Closest to the road
The one with the lilies.

We laid the baby’s body down
To decay and be taken away
By the buzzards
Doing us all a favor.

Circle of life
You piss me off sometimes
With the squirrels in the road
Just trying to get across

The deer in the woods
Just trying to feed their young
And the people
Gifts

To all who knew them
Snatched
Away with
Or without warning.

©2014 Laura Overstreet Biering, Brinson’s Race, GA