Schrodinger’s Possum

On a railroad track in the woods
stepping on each tie as I walked along
there before me on the tracks I saw a possum.

When you come across a possum of course
you can never tell if it is alive or dead.

I had been looking down so as not to trip on the ties
and did not know if he was there the whole time
or if he had suddenly dropped in supposed rigor as I approached.

Worm like tail and little black hands with white fingers
mouth ajar with white teeth
jutting up and down like a tiny snow capped mountain range
I looked at his chest for movement and saw nothing.

I thought of his line of defense in light of an oncoming train.
It was poor strategy.

And so I
with the end of my foot
scooted him gently from the tracks and then there he was
in the leaves still unmoving
his heart racing
his mind in panic from the perceived danger
trying to keep his breaths shallow
so that no one could tell;
him, there, full of sentience, outwardly still but inside
blood coursing their mad dash through his veins and his inner organs doing their dance of life

or not.

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