You Tell Me You Want to Live Close to Nature
by Joan Mazza
(published in The Mark Lit Review, August, 2021)
You plan to have acreage, a garden, pots with herbs
on every windowsill. You’ll have a dog and cat
or maybe two of each, and wildlife will gather
on your property, a sanctuary. How lovely
the fantasy of back-to-the-earth, the simple life.
I plant basil seeds in handmade flowerpots painted
with dragonflies and flowers, with potting soil I store
in the garage. The mice have other plans. They carry
birdseed from one side of the garage to the sack of soil
that now grows sunflowers no matter what the packet says.
They leave piles of shelled seeds and corn kernels between
the bookcases. Fleas and ticks must surely view me
as a god who provides for all their needs. The squirrels
breed and breed and leave their droppings, population
increasing with my generosity. My neighbor’s cat
kills a bird a day for lunch, leaves feathers on my porch.
It’s thirteen miles to the nearest supermarket, an hour
to malls and theaters. Far from the main road, no traffic
noise, but when it snows, I can’t get up my driveway’s hill.
Howling dogs on the adjacent property inform me
they’re cold and underfed. That cozy woodstove you envy
is ravenous for logs encased in ice when the power goes out.
The possum isn’t afraid of anyone, and the skunk knows
what to do. My poodle scares off herons and wood ducks.
Sighting a bear, she’s a city dog. She doesn’t have a clue.
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