Posted in art, poetry, writing


Tragedy  Morning traffic dictated a lethargic pace. I tailgated the car in front of me as if burning grill marks on his bumper  would increase the speed of moving, could decrease my anxiety— would I make it to work on time?  I veered onto the exit ramp at the first opportunity, crossing a bit of the solid white, zipping around the line stopped on the highway, the other 9-5ers blinking at their windshields, sleepwalkers guzzling coffee and eating granola bars.  The ramp was clear, a straight shot of open road to fly without impasse in the freedom of ignoring speed suggestions. I noticed something to my right  before I hit the intersection: a dead deer, frozen and whole like a stuffed replica. I looked away to my left. Three black trash bags lined the shoulder.Sometimes routine can blind us from what’s happening around us, good or bad. Don’t forget to open your eyes. Write a poem about it if you can.

Happy Thursday!

–Leanne Rebecca