--GO ON AND TELL ME WHAT I'M SUPPOSED TO SAY

The Language of Beavers

It's not a dream

I watch the beaver

flop on the dock

shake his pelt dry

an ice pick in one paw

a skull in the other

him then carving calligraphy 

on the scrimshaw with 

the intensity of a doula

An hour later he 

dives into the lake 

soundless as a cloud 

leaving his message behind 

I don't recognize the scrawl 

for what is the

language of beavers? 

But I do recognize the 

brainpan as my own 

the one that went missing

all those years ago