Driving Route 73
in Knox County,  
I could eat the air:
gobble stands of balsam
nibble tidal wrack.
A pickup speeds toward me.
The  seagull, busy with roadkill,
is slow to rise.
He’s smashed by the truck’s grill
and bounces, dead, across my roof.
Each day I see his body, 
white and inert, at roadside.    
So sudden the flight from life
to stillness at the road’s edge.

Published by

Cynthia M. Sheward

Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement. Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media. She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.

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