The Trial

From my alcove window through the pines

I could see the church courtyard  by moonlight lit

and  from that direction a babe was crying in the night

left on the cold marble of the stairs I surmised.

I  put a raincoat over my nightgown and  in haste

crept through wisteria trellis gate at back of the church

bent to succor the abandoned child of my imagining.

I walk down the steps to find myself encircled on the oval

by twenty-two raccoons hostile to my presence there.

I saw no exit or baby but was thrust in the proceeding,

on  trial it would seem. I stood very still and accepted

for now it seemed I had been summoned to come.

How long it lasted? It seemed hours, but probably not.

And at the end I bowed my head to them and as if by sign

a path parted in their midst for me and I walked out intact,

bearing no swaddled babe in my arms,

but  musing at the justice of their verdict.

                                                                                                                                                                                   Antonia Baranov