Half-Acre Aubade
- Half-Acre Aubade
I agree that the possum is worthy of praise, so I singwith my dog as the darkness shifts to pink,mash my face against the glass door and marvel
as the grizzled marsupial plunders the cat bowl on the porch.Such a struggle to stifle the growl festering in my throat,the urge to run through wet grass without the tight collar of clothes.
Yes, I am like this shelter dog, and also the neighbor's donkey,longing to cloak myself in the musk of the earth by rollingin manure, and the rained on, deflated shapes of dead animals.
The humidity-warped compass of the fan blades twirlsnorth, south, east, and west all at once. Today has arrived,and the neighbors celebrate by riding their golf cart
down the gravel drive to collect the newspaper. I walkthe asphalt, coffee cup in one hand, axe helve in the otherto defend against snakes or the bricklayer's pit bulls
with ears shaved close to their heads. The sun ignitesthe bell of the water tower and the unsteady fire tower, shineson the sex offenders sheltered on United Church Road
outed by postcards listing their tattoos and rapes.This morning, this routine morning, is unlike any other.I open the garage only to see a crawfish war-painted in mud
strutting up the drive, pincers raised in two-pronged applause,though really it looks like Atlas losing his balance, callingon me to shoulder the world, to lift it with words of praise. [End Page 167]
Alison Pelegrin is the author of three poetry collections, most recently Hurricane Party (2011) and Big Muddy River of Stars (2007), both with the University of Akron Press. She is the recipient of fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Louisiana Division of the Arts, and her poems have appeared in Poetry, Ploughshares, and Southern Review. Pelegrin teaches English at Southeastern Louisiana University.
