Joyce Schmid
Shriek
Suddenly, I hear the scream of a small animal
the cat has caught and dragged off by the neck—
the squirrel who used to eat our apricots and run
in circles round the fruitless mulberry.
Who could understand the last despair of animals?
Tell your senator it’s time to vote
against the fisherman who throws the fish back in,
its mouth still bleeding. The fisherman believes
he’s merciful. And yet the state of nature is so natural.
Imagine if a fish could scream. Who could understand?
What is the translation of a scream?
Joyce Schmid‘s recent work has appeared in Missouri Review, Poetry Daily, New Ohio Review, Sugar House Review, Riverfeet Press Anthology, and other journals and anthologies. Joyce has live in Palo Alto, California, with her husband of over half a century.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.