Thursday, January 24, 2013
In which I write a sad poem
Elegy to a fierce creature
who once lived in the burnt-out,
abandoned house across from ours.
There is no poem that I want to write
about the broken bridge of fleshless ribs,
open to the sun, laid bare on the asphalt-
but she was full and furred, once.
She was two star-pointed eyes piercing
the midnight brush on the side of the road.
There was a little girl in a tutu who used
to sneak out breadcrumbs and milk.
There were clumsy hands and greasy pets.
Frame her outside the context of our love
and she was a fierce hunter, a feral mother,
an urban warrior, a short-lived fury.