By Marie-Louise Meyers

I ransack memories, few left intact,

trying to fabricate a satisfactory ending 

from grandiose beginnings to grandchildren of all ages,

all stages of growth who stand-open mouthed and ready

for my pronouncement of fate, ready or not!

When too eager for an ending, I make a fatal mistake,

voice quakes and drops down to a rasp,

hoping for some miracle to save me at last.

Till the height of the Pandemic when everything changes

on our 76 acres, even a skunk with colors reversed,

when non-native animals come to our pond,

who never darkened our doorway before.

I still gasp at the thought, only the nub of a tail away,

a disappearing cougar into a glade, a fisher-cat,

stood its ground after a storm’s rage went through

breaking down our stand of trees near the creek.

With lightning striking, thunder obscuring

the sound of my footfall, a strange animal confronting me,

the size of a wolverine with luxurious tan fur,

a black and dark brown stripe running through it,

a masked weasel head with canines glaring at me, 

no tricks up my sleeve my walking stick saved me.

I called it rue-land for it claimed what I thought was mine

while a chill went up and down my spine and theirs too,

putting wonder back into all shades of blue,

even the brown-eyed pessimist was impressed 

while the short hairs on their neck stood up, 

till I confessed as though possessed, all true!