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Wildlife Rehabilitators are NOT my Parents
I get lost, really lost, in TV commercials
(meant to appeal to emotions)
Uncomfortably lost, wandering, confused.
An old feeling.
I was born into unfamiliar values
No options with oxygen
No options with meaning to me
Material intellectualism
Dead forms all around
Dead, but not ugly
At least thin intelligence
In circumstances that were less cerebral
I might have devolved.....
........becoming more like a weasel
Why?
Minds that actively search, ------go up............or down
and I'm not like that weasel
(with intelligence channeled toward cunning)
But I have starved, always, for the unnamed.
Should I be grateful?
Had I had the perfect family....
Perhaps I would have stayed,
Comfortable in our small, meaningful life
(imagining here a family of wildlife
rehabilitators ------what could be finer?)
But my spark would have become
but a lovely fire
In the family's cozy hearth.
And the harsh winds would not
have whipped up
this Wildfire
escaping now from
the spark I long carried,
onto the rain-starved,
waiting, countryside.
