“Oh Opossum” is a piece dedicated to a deceased opossum who was hit by a car when I found him. I sat with him until he passed, and it brought up a lot of conflicting feelings regarding my biological father who also died from getting hit by a car. As of late, I’ve been writing poems to go along with my art. Below is what I wrote.
Gasping, wheezing, unable to shout
I exited my car, you couldn't move away
There was blood leaking from your gnarled snout
I knelt and there was nothing I could say
I think of my father's death
Like you- hit by a car in mere moments
Not dead; just dying, life leaving in every breath
A pain so unequal to his life's atonements
I can't relieve your pain
I can't save you from your demise
But I can stay with you while you remain
Until the light leaves your eyes
Moved to the grass, I hear how you whimper
I felt how you shook, I saw you grow weak
Through your soft fur, I let my fingers linger
On your body, my eyes fearfully took a peek
You were a male, but you were young
If you had children, I found none
Like my father, your song was half sung
And all the same I came undone
A possom- opossum- made me weep
For what? Something I didn't do?
Watching nature happen? Seeing life reap?
Or was it what that opossum made me feel anew?
I watched you die, you were never alone
I pet you through it, a mere sentiment
It is a strange knowledge to know
Such painful deaths, because someone was negligent
Opossum, critter, fiend, thief, friend
I'm sorry your life ended like many before
I'm sorry your injuries were something I couldn’t mend
And I wish you were something I could ignore
In total there was 29 prints completed: 26 opossums, 2 black squares, and 1 skeleton. However, this work means more then the surface level subjects it shows. My mom was 29 years old when my dad died, leaving her alone to raise us three kids. The 2 black squares to represent my age and memory of my father; as I was only 2 when he died and I have no personal memory of him. 1 death, my father, and you’ll notice it’s double layered. This is because my father died in the ambulance, was resuscitated, only to die a few days later. Finally, the 26 is a time stamp. ‘26 is the year the opossum died.
