Tuesday Poem - Camouflage

I found a shrew, perfectly formed -
a curlicue, a pause.
In my hands, its body was still warm.
I wondered if I might revive it,
lay it down among the reeds & watch
it plump out from the heat of my palms.
Its fur was wheat, rye, barley -
all those it had known, taken in.
It bristled; I watched.
Turning it over, I found small marks
on its hindquarters.

Fold me up, it said. I am almost alive.



Happily joining in with the Tuesday Poem community this week. This poem was published a couple of years ago in a UK based journal, Other Poetry, which has been active for thirty-five years (no small feat for a physical poetry journal). It's always surprising rereading work you have written some time ago, a sense of tenderness and a consideration of what you would do differently now. Enjoy this past offering!