Her paws. The palms bounced
to and fro on the climbing rocks,
Claws intact, slightly overgrown
and worn. Senior years, I’d assume
But what defines age? Her eyes
had a spritz of youth sprayed into
the marble spheres. She saw me.
I stared back. My eyes had creases
at the sides. Hypocrisy pinged the
moment for that second, and I
knew that she’d see me as the
steak of all desires – a feast to
herself – who could blame her?
She’s an animal.
I saw the enclosure cage her wild
instinct. She once screamed to be
free, but now, she lost the fight
within her roaring soul to even
think about running on African
And as beautiful as she was, and
as grateful as I was to see such a
glorious creature, this was not the
chosen way of seeing her, like this,
Because it was not the life she chose for her and her feline paws.