NaPoWriMo #26

Nose to the Ground

When she had a dog
he would lead her to the dead.
Now she tromps in search of rot alone.
She does not tell her husband.
She does not bring the children.
She goes alone in search
of what winter left behind.
Dried bones put a skip in her step,
walking trail
head on a swivel
lifting stones with boot toe
kicking rotten limbs with heel
both feet hoping
for a tuft of fur
and beneath that
bits of flesh.

When I was a child,
hikers found a dead body
in the woods near my summer home.
A sad man, killed by his lover, hauled
up from the city to the country.
I wanted to be the one
to find the next big news story.
My greatest wish,
to find a decaying body
missing hands,
feet and head.
Remnant of a homicide maybe.

Do not think less of us.
We do not wish for death,
do not wish for people to die.
But people die,
people kill,
and we have but to look
and remember.

I have not found
the woman. I have seen
her. She looks just like me.
You might remember us both.