Squirrely

A poem about squirrels and Monday, April 8, 2024, the Great North American Eclipse

Photo by Crawford Passy on Unsplash

scurrying stealthily
big black squirrel scampers
down the roofline
to the eavestrough’s edge
where it waits

and ponders the danger
or maybe
relishes the challenge

before taking the
leap
out into the bare air
of the great grey yonder
on this cold early spring morning
and then

plomph!

lands on the bare-leaved
branches of the tree

then takes another flying
leap
to the wooden rickety fence
between the two houses

and scrurries, scampers
nut-hunting happy
to its precious hoarding grounds

only to repeat the pattern
again and again and again

plomph!
plomph!
plomph!

each time, surviving
the death-defying acrobatic
leap
on to the sharp branch points
and extricating itself to pursue
its ravenous appetite

*

Chocktaw tradition has it
that the sun disappeared
because Fvni Lusa —
large, black squirrel —
ate it to quell
its hunger pain

once the sun disappeared
behind the moon
their ancestors would throw sticks and rocks
shoot arrows, throw spears
at the dark sun
to scare away the squirrel

when the sun emerged again
the tribe would dance and cheer
while Fvni Lusa
nursed its gnawing pangs

*

flying squirrels look like bats
in full flight

these are not flying squirrels
but the garden-variety, urban
big, overrunning kind

rats with bushy tails

and a mythological
tale
of a big black squirrel
that gorged on the sun

they feed on nuts and sun
and our eyes feast on them
as we set our sights
to the skies
in awe and wonder