When I Try to Write an Elegy
       

I try to make it pastoral. You know, bunnies and deer
and flowers. It's not as if they're ever out of the picture —
when things go wrong, there's always a fox crouching
under a lunar eclipse on the drive to the hospital

or a bluebird singing above your house
as you lose consciousness. Even now,
I'm considering chemo, the cherry trees
are shedding blossoms, such a great metaphor for loss,

those damn petals all over the blacktop.
I wish I could have it all back: the people
I've lost, the nights, the years I spent in the hospital,
the memories, and lately, my reflexes,

the ability to walk without a cane, the ability
to wrap up a math problem or recite a poem
without difficulty. I've said before nature
is treacherous. Is there anything more treacherous

than the promise of cottony rabbits waiting to eat my dahlias
when I turn my back, the deer tearing at the camellias?
Is there anything worse than a moon that turns dark as blood
just as you are learning to rely on its silver light for salvation?

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Copyright © 2022 Jeannine Hall Gailey All rights reserved
from Redactions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission