The thought-less fox

When Ted Hughes wrote his timeless poem "The Thought Fox," he was writing about the "aliveness" (as he called it) of foxes and of the process of writing becoming one in the imagination. But when this blogger happened upon pile after pile of dead foxes, heaped up like so much detritus by the side of a forgotten trail, it somewhat derailed her thought process and got her to thinking more about what it is to claim "aliveness." Read and see more on this encounter, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Fox bones

Senseless, I know,
you lying there so cold
but nothing I could have said
would have stopped the twisting
of a senseless death
so many months before
the leaves had turned,
and when your fire had burned
with the sharp warm colors
of your ancient febrile tribe.
Nothing could cure
what ached in you save
a pellet or an arrow bright
with your very end,
now flung to the rushes
drifting in your shards,
on the very wind you enjoined
to scent your own dark prey.
You are insensate, this
I know, but I pray you
on your way.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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