I Smelled Death

I smelled death

one summer afternoon.

Rather, the smell

of what death leaves behind

and is fed by it.

The smell, with the sight,

overwhelmed me.

And the feeling too.

What was a possum

there in the grass.

In “my” yard.

writhing with maggots,

in full bloom.

Where she lay

and that she died.

was all I knew of her.

I left her there

in the grass

and asked her

to not go anywhere.

“Keep feeding new life

with this once animated body.”

The smell still and gratitude now

filling my senses.

Four days later, I returned.

Only her bones remained.

More of her story

filled my head

and reached my heart

carried on lingering odor.

Her life of service

to her babies and Nature.

I buried her

behind the evergreens -

all that was left of her

except her skull

which still smiles at me

from my alter,

odorless and motionless,

next to Quetzalcoatl.

By some miracle

that didn’t ever need to be,

she lived a life

worth honoring,

in her ancestors home,

now invaded by humans,

scarred with streets, fences,

fake lawns and killing machines.

Other details of her life are unknown

but deserving of honor,

of burial and gratitude.

She earned the right

to smell like that;

putrid, decaying, dissolving.

Reminding me that

Only the living can smell death.