Sorrow of the Raven Spirit Somewhere, in an overpopulated small town where the roads are too small for the amount of cars that travel on them and it takes twenty minutes just to go a mile at five o'clock, where the houses are too close together and you can reach out your window and hand your neighbor a beer but no one does because they are too busy to talk to each other, let alone drink together, Somewhere in a town that was built by a handful of men long dead where no one remembers them except for the roads that still bear the names of their ancestors and a few pictures that hang on a wall in the town hall that no one ever sees except for the criminals that don't care anyway, Somewhere, in a town she can't recognize, where people rush around the local supermarket with heavy hearts and tired smiles as if they hunted for all the food themselves and then stocked the shelves with their own hands, where people get on the check out line cursing under their breath because they are in a big hurry to watch television before they have to sit down to dinner with their family that they don't talk to during the rest of the day, Somewhere, in a small town without shame, where a boy of twelve or so carelessly throws an empty pepsi can into the babbling brook that was once safe for drinking but now carries in its tiny current, cans and other garbage that children at the playground discard without reservations, without guilt, without respect, without love in their hearts... Somewhere in an overpopulated small town with no name, where a cigarette flies out of the driver's window of a dark green Dodge Shadow, still lit, smoke rising, smoldering in the gravel, where no one even turns their heads to notice because its not like a real crime to anyone but Mother Nature herself, who cries quietly with the babbling brook and the wind blowing off the lake, Somewhere, on the side of the road, where a spirit stands unnoticed, long hair blowing with the breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees, still dressed in animal skins and mocassins, searching for the beautiful landscape that her tribe once called home long ago, searching for the deer and horses that roamed over the land, free, wild, and plentiful, searching for her own descendants only to find smoke rising from an endless row of chimneys and the smell of fumes from the passing cars and no familar faces, Somewhere, on the side of the road with his companion, the raven spirit sits upon her shoulder with great sorrow in his heart. He knew the night they arrived in the cold of Winter, her people would protect them and teach them how to hunt, how to grow corn and other crops and how to survive, only to be repaid like this... He was silent. He didn't have to say, "I told you so." She could see with her own dark eyes filled with tears. by Lady of the Shadows (C) Kelli Sposato Home Poetry Please do not reproduce this poem on the internet or for any other reason without prior permission. Feel free to contact me at [email protected] if you have questions regarding this site. Thank you.