Stray

Robert Allen

May 2, 2021

She has this dream she will die in the snow

on a Monday morn, lying flat, having spread

her last angel, when flakes drift down in slow

swirling motions on the eyes of her head,

which in turn will dream of a warm green glade

with chirping birds, soft grass, and trees that grow

large, lifting their boughs to offer deep shade

to feral creatures who wander below—

but not today. This February day

with trees bare, birds making the only sound,

and the hopeful search for a place to stay

gone wrong, it will be hard to move around

or even breathe. Too late this man will lay

her stiff, frail carcass in the cold blue ground.

Robert Allen is retired and lives with his wife, two children, five antique clocks, and six cats. He has poems in di-vêrsé-city, Voices de la Luna, the Texas Poetry Calendar, the San Antonio Express-News, The Ocotillo Review, and Poetry on the Move. He now co-facilitates Gemini Ink’s Open Writer’s Lab.