Cathartes aura

 

Cathartes aura

April, three weeks into lockdown
and the phone rings in California.
A doctor in a Manhattan hospital informs us
Janelle has been admitted with Covid-19.
We’re next of kin.  

Atop a fence post outside our window
a turkey vulture hunkers down in the mist,
red-masked as if for virus protection.
Cathartes aura has an acute sense of smell
for ethyl mercaptan, the gas produced
in early stages of decaying meat.
Can it smell New York?

Cathartes means “purifier”
from the Greek word, same root as catharsis.
And aura is also from Greek
meaning “breeze, breath.”

The brave doctor holds an iPad over Janelle
enclosed in a clear plastic womb, Facetime
to say goodbye. She’s barely alive,
low blood oxygen, a white mask over mouth
but maybe we see a wan smile. Maybe not.
We end with “Hope to see you soon”
because we mean it.

On the fence post Cathartes aura
spreads wings to dry like laundry on a line.
Branches sway softly, a puff of pure air.

…..

First published in Califragile. Thank you Wren Tuatha, editor.
Photo by V J Anderson

Note: It’s true. A vulture, in fact about 9 vultures, perched atop a redwood tree outside our house and watched us as we watched “Janelle” breathe her last breaths in New York. And I ache, remembering those times.

Hear me: