Rose-Colored Glasses at the End of the World

(Found here)

I’ve upended the sugar bowl,

picked up the slant,
learned to look at life straight on.

But last night there was a bloodbath.
Jagged edges and teeth,
a viciousness that can only unveil itself at night.

A raccoon killed three chickens.
Feathers strewn,
necks detached.
The bloodless bodies do not ask for anything,
but everything screams we have failed them.

The sunrise is pink.
An uncanny rose settles on the carnage
making the blood tinge rose.
The feathers are pink petals
dropped in some kind of celebration.

The hues refuse to be painted into more somber tones.
What am I to make of last night’s carnage
blessed by a new day?

~Jess Dahl