For the Opossum, My Sympathy
- For the Opossum, My Sympathy
Luck and mercy compelled a god to burn youinto existence. In the dark you conjure
a pile of oak leaves into a dwelling. A fine placeto raise your family, or dream of one.
A fine place to carry the weight of allthe world's suffering alone. I wonder what came first—
your face, which is a scar sneering in the dark,or the pain that allows such wounds to fester—
not just fester—but forces them to growand survive? Your existence lives between smile
and snarl. Like you, I often play dead and wish it were so.That rouge-dark gash in your gut that keeps
your offspring warm looks like a slit wrist.Sometimes, I dream someone will find me,
and maybe, find also, some small things inside of meworth saving—small things that could live on
even if I were gone. Like me, you are always avoidingthose shocked men hollering, Look at that ugly mother fucker
every time you surprise them and exposetheir violent insecurities. It must get old,
playing dead behind dumpsters. If you will let me,I will apologize on behalf of all the fear [End Page 227]
that Illinois overflows with. I watch you pass throughmy headlights and the intersection of our lives.
Please, be careful. Some of us don't bother to slow down.Some of us are so afraid of you and your truth, we speed up. [End Page 228]
John McCarthy is the author of Scared Violent Like Horses (Milkweed Editions, 2019), which won the Jake Adam York Prize. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in 32 Poems, Alaska Quarterly Review, Best New Poets 2015, Copper Nickel, Hayden's Ferry Review, TriQuarterly, and Zone 3, among others. Additionally, he is the 2016 winner of The Pinch Literary Award in Poetry. John received his MFA from Southern Illinois University Carbondale. He currently lives in Evanston, Illinois, where he serves as an Associate Editor of RHINO magazine.
