I hate to see dead animals on the road,
I hate to see their bodies sullied, splattered,
fur and flesh battered into leather
like the mother raccoon and her four kits
separated into sudden pieces
for a full quarter mile along the highway

I stop and move them to the side

Yesterday I saw a large bird on the road, a vulture
tip of its wing moving in the wind
I stopped and lifted it
(noting the entrails drying on the road,
noting the dead squirrel it must have been eating when it was hit)
and started to drag it off the asphalt
claws scraping the road
feathers stiff
body surprisingly light for something that large

and then the bird's head swung up,
its round yellow eye looked at me, surprised,
as if it had not expected to move again
as if it had been somewhere else
as if it had not expected to see me at all

I'm sorry, I said, I'm sorry

I held its body close
took it out of the sun
laid it out on the grass under a tree

I'm so sorry

Maggie Creshkoff