They do not stir
at light’s last rhombus
on the rug, nor wake to
the clank of the pans, the scent of potatoes
and ham, the cabbage steaming from a pot.
We chatter and eat
while beneath us
in my uncle’s waiting room,
the bear, tired of standing,
dreams of curling up
his paws tucked in folds of fur.
The doe nuzzles her reflection
in the stream. The bobcat
flicks her tail, springs,
feels the thump of pads as
claws rip chest to hip.

 

Photo By: Craig ONeal