Crazy Raccoon
janine canan
It's the crazy raccoon, says the boy next door,
screaming every night when it turns dark,
at the highest pitch, inconsolably.
Am I that crazy raccoon?
For my heart still turns itself inside-out
for you, who long ago left without a glance.
Like a razor the raccoon's cry cuts the night.
But no scream stirs your caring back to life.
My love grows lush and thorny
like blackberries over a vast dead tree.
The raccoon falls silent -- night rings in my ears
as I lie on the soft peach quilts we once slept in.
Only my head on your breast told what was in my heart.
Had I known you set the alarm so early,
I would have stayed up all night
pouring syrup to the bottom of your soul.
I would have knelt, adoring every second of night.
Ah, didn't I try? You slept -- I couldn't wake you!
Not even the shrieking raccoon pierces your locked heart.
If only I had left out every word that wasn't love,
it mourns inconsolably, whenever it turns dark.