Rabbit Skull
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Up past the white-crowned clover patch,
and the stacks of firewood in the woodshed, up past
the late-July cornfield with its stalks growing
yellow tassels from the newly forming
tightly-swaddled ears of corn, I found a rabbit skull
on the ground beneath a linden tree. It had clearly
been there awhile, and I’m surprised I hadn’t noticed it before.
I picked it up gently by the eye socket and examined its rows
of molars leading up to the curved incisors at the end of its mouth.

Of course I got to thinking about the surprise of being caught
and how wide its eyes must have been, and how hard its heart
must have beat, and how long it was before the last.
I thought about how the flesh of the rabbit was long-ago
digested in the belly of a fox, where it turned into milk for her kits,
and it was hard not to smile and weep at the same time,
it was hard not to stand and wonder, looking up
at the morning sky, it was hard not to lift the little skull
towards that self-same sky, and pray.

Full of the Moon
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Near the edge of the brush along the path
there are flattened places where the deer
must have hunkered down for the night, after
eating their fill of corn.

What do you dream about—if you dream at all?
If you do, I hope you don’t have nightmares
involving bears, or the hypnotizing high-beams
of a fast-approaching car.

I hope your dreams are filled with vast
stretches of fields far away from the roads,
unencumbered by factories, shopping malls,
and houses.  I hope you dream of grazing
all night beneath the stars, your hearts full of the moon.

Washing the Feathers
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Standing at the kitchen sink,
gently washing and smoothing
(from calamus to tip) the bluejay feather
I found on the path, and the woodpecker feather
I found near the Barn, I kept thinking:
these were once attached to bodies with hollow bones—
ones that flew, ones that slept in the trees—
and I wondered at how many feathers
the bluejay and woodpecker still had,
and why they dropped these particular ones,
and how high they were flying when they did,
I wondered if they knew they had loosened them
into the sky, I wondered if they felt them go,
I wondered too if I will feel the feathers
dropping from my soul as I fly through the world.

Part of Me
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

I have a bin of toys and a bin of musical instruments
in the living room. One has things, like an old Etch-a-Sketch,
a blue, felt elephant on wheels you can roll across the floor,
an old Fisher-Price camera with ready-made pictures
of farm animals in the viewfinder, shark bubble-shooters,
and, of course, purple and green bottles of bubbles–complete with wands.
There’s a bendy-gorilla, a couple of those things you press down,
then wait for them to pop up into the air, there’s a cow that moos
when you tip it, the boardgame “Candyland,” and a deck of go-fish cards,
among other things. The instrument box is full
of little tambourines—one even has faded, blue, pink, and green
streamers attached, there are multiple shakers—some shaped like
eggs, some like pears, some like giraffes, others like rhinos,
there are kinds like the ones Davey Jones played while singing
“I’m a Believer,” on the Monkees TV show,
there are hand-held blocks of wood with sandpaper glued to one side,
there are claves of various sizes, a couple leather straps of Christmas-bells,
among other things. And they’re always there, ready
for the playing, and they remind me, when I see them,
that part of me will happily forever be a child.

The Wonder of it All
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Turns out we have animals living in the woods
around the Barn big enough to take down a deer.
On my walk this morning, along the edge of the cornfield,
I found the leg of a whitetail deer that had been torn
from its body—the body that was nowhere to be found–
it was bent, like an angled hook–its sleek-hair, dew covered.
It still had strings of meat connected, and its black hoof, like
a petrified piece of charcoal– will forever be saying:
“I just wasn’t fast enough.” I stand up and continue walking
wondering at the wonder of it all.

Outrageous
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

I put on an extra shirt before going outside
this morning–the one that stays open for lack of buttons—
and go out wondering what outrageous things
I’ll see today. Maybe another half-eaten deer leg
on the ground by the edge of the cornfield. Maybe
another woodchuck waddling back into the underbrush
with its mouth full of clover. Maybe I’ll see
the baby Eastern Cottontails nibbling the morning grass.
Maybe I’ll notice the wine berries again, and the dew
on the slender, fuzzy cornstalks. Maybe I’ll remember
how alive I am, and how grateful. Maybe when I get back
to the Barn I’ll carry wonder into the room,
and to the chair where I write poetry after my morning walks,
and pour it into my favorite pen and spill it across the page–
that too is just as outrageous as anything I know.

Joy of the Knowing
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

I bet the soft as dreams Eastern
Cottontails living in the brush along
the footpaths, nibble and swallow so many
four-leaf clovers in a given day—
same with the deer and the Clydesdales
across the road, as well as the woodchuck
I saw this morning.

I’ve yet to pluck a clover and chew it to see
what that’s like, but rest assured I will someday
and I will tell you all about it.

When I arrive back at the door to the Barn
–just before I go in–I turn and look at the day,
and these thoughts fill me with joy of the knowing
all those animals have bellies full of four-leaf clovers.

The Night Falls,
a Prose Poem
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

This morning the cows were already waiting for me at the fence. “Good morning!” I said. They skipped the pleasantries and got right to it. “We have strange news Radiance. Did you know that the night really falls? We haven’t figured out from where yet, but it falls alright. It’s like some sort of veil that had been held up by invisible strings all day that the sun snipped before she sank behind the hills. It slowly drifted down and disappeared the corn field, the tractor, and the farmer’s house. It even covered the lights in the windows.” They chewed their mouthfuls of clover waiting to see my reaction. I looked up at the sky and said: “That is strange. I dreamt last night that I wasn’t ready to teach today.” “What did you do?” they asked. “I woke up in a panic, got up to pee, then went back to bed.” “What happened to the dream? they asked.” “I’m not sure,” I said, “but maybe it turned into a veil and was lifted into the sky when I got up this morning.” The cows chewed for a moment and we all stood in silence until they said: “Strange.”

The Ground that is No Longer Ice
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

When the day arises with an answer,
and all the movable parts are humming

smoothly, and the stars living in your bones
are alive, and singing–go journeying for a time,

or forever. You know it will rain heavily
tomorrow, but today the sun is shining. Remember

the answer was found in the dark.
As you begin simply lift your feet–compelled forward

and away, like ice-skating, only gliding just
above the ground—the ground that is no longer ice.

Discovery
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Yesterday I found out how far
I can be from the Beloved when talking
on a long piece of string with a tin can
held to our ears at either end.