Something else was a shepherd

There is beauty in dead things
In blackened viscera and creeping fetid rot
A knot of entrails piled neatly like sculpture
Or funnel cake
Its body yards away mostly intact
The burglar's mask of a raccoon still fluffy and flyblown

A baby turtle as perfect as it hatched
Red dots painted on its nose
I want to pick it up
Breathe into it
But it's alone here on the side of the road
No mother to come shepherd it to safety
Something else was a shepherd
Left it to waste

We take our own dead
make them up
to look like life but the mark is missed
As if applying color
will put the soul back in its seat
We can't bear witness to sallow cheeks and sunken eyes
Because to look at our dead is to see ourselves
And death will never come to us
Because we exercise regularly
We go to our doctors
We eat raw celery
And drink only pure artesian spring water

We bring death to other things
For food
For sport
For clothing
We wear death proudly
Denying its access to us personally

But death will come
Regardless of your fear and staving off
And you will be beautiful
Like a broken necked bird