Roadkill Sonnet
A Poem by Emma Galloway Stephens
Roadkill Sonnet I found a possum in the road, her remains unholy, but whole. In the moonlight, her blood ran gold, her mouth agape. Hide without soul. I turned on my hazards, grabbed a towel from the trunk. My gloved hands, a bowl for her bowels. Overhead, an owl mourned. I held her. I took a trowel and furrowed her a roadside bed. We were made for Eden—not for pain, but full bellies and flowerbeds. In some other dawn we’ll meet again where saints of every shape lay down their loads. No more death. No more sorrow. No more roads.
Emma Galloway Stephens is a neurodivergent poet and professor from the Appalachian foothills of South Carolina. Her poems have appeared in The Windhover, Thimble Literary Magazine, Red Branch Review, Ekstasis Magazine, Door is a Jar Literary Magazine, and many other publications. You can read more at egstephenspoetry.com.
