The Squirrel

Often among the uncut summer fields

I see this backwards facing furry

question mark (although sometimes it is facing correctly)

wafting along with the bowing grasses.

The question mark emerges like a submarine

from the ocean of grass, like a sharks fin submerging

only to been discovered rising awfully close to where I am.

Sometimes the squirrel sits up, paws in prayer

or holding a nut he’s discovered (maybe he’s a she,

I can’t identify squirrel gender).

Then after the rising, he (or she) disappears again

making his way beneath the emerald grass ocean, stealthily

discovering lunch (or maybe an early supper if he

is older, a member of the geriatric crowd).

Whenever I see that question mark above the

fields, it makes me contemplate,

reminded of the many lives below

visibility, barely noticed, making their way through

life unnoticed, unrecognized, living life

not wondering what life means.







Richard W. Smith

June 3, 2011