Bestiary

Raccoon on a Branch

50 Raccoon on a Branch You want to face this illness on your own. I take a plane to be near. Your physique, still handsome, racked by coughs, by monthly chemo. It’s difficult for you to speak. I’m tongue-tied. As I leave, walking down your block, ground trembles. I meet another friend recovering. She and I follow the reservoir path. We’ve walked this trail before. Though you’re not here, you occupy the space that separates. I tell my friend you want to be alone. She says,“That’s strange. After the operation, I needed to be near all those I love.” We hear a scuffling in some fallen branches scattered across the dirt. Crows caw above. My friend stops, gestures: “Look, a young raccoon.” The creature stares straight at us. A dog barks. The animal limps away, climbs a trunk. He fumbles, ascends to a higher branch, looks down, trembling, unfocused, blinks his eyes, unaccustomed to the blazing sun. Leaving behind the raccoon, clinging close to limb, 51 we understand he wants no company. The light is changing now, but I’d stay planted beneath the tree, waiting into the dark. 52 This page intentionally left blank. ...