by Tianna G. Hansen
your ribs are bare on your chest cavity
where I imagine your heart was homed
is that what the vultures consumed first?
the vital organ that once pumped blood
through your leaping body, long legs kick
up in joy, in life. you must not have seen
that death machine hurtling toward you
before it was too late, and you became
a once-vibrant thing reduced to fur and
dead eyes on the side of country roads;
scraps to be eaten, a meal for the birds
circling above. all I can think as I pass
is how this is the way I have been left,
a dead thing to be devoured or scraped
up from the pavement. glass eyes gaze
into the distance but I will never dance
through the forest again or nibble on
ripe stalks of corn. maybe this was a
kinder way to go rather than staring
down the barrel of a rifle & knowing:
t h i s i s t h e e n d.
Tianna G. Hansen has been writing her whole life. She believes there is always light to be found in the darkest moments, and founded a small press and lit mag Rhythm & Bones (rhythmnbone.com), focused on the idea of turning trauma into art. Find more of her work at creativetianna.com or follow her on Twitter @tiannag92, IG @tgghansen24, FB @tiannaghansen.
(And for a change of pace, make sure to read Tianna’s poem candy floss. – Elephants Never)