Thursday, June 4, 2015

The Hunters

Abbi was a cat, of purely feline prowess.
Condemned to solitary confinement for her
First two years, then with me, she sought no

I remember when her paws touched earth
For the first time in her life
She yowled not in happiness
But regret for those who might have died.

The woods were filled with shadows and webs
Tiny fliers who sting, and whose wings sing
But those with fur walked as greased
And those with smooth skin feel an unease.

We brought them in with bowls and sofas
So that they might die was we die and
So we might not live as they might have lived
Without our weakness.
We grow fat together and face the same aged woes,
But Abbi cat sharpened her claws and hunted the night
Hunted the night.
They knew her, the lesser folk
And they knew they must be still
No breath could escape
Too terrified to release urine
Homage to the stealth of the Grey.
Honor her if you dare and challenge her if you may.
Abbi kept her eyes away from the stars
Lest a glint of green betray
For those on wings and feather flew
Looking for the dismay
The elder fly slower
And hunt in the headlights
There they die smashed to bits
But hunting by all rights.

So Abbbi’s gone and Sam is buried
The hunters I have known
And Striped Girl has strapped on
The mantle of those gone.
Headlong battle ends in blood and let’s see whose is spilt.
For here’s a dog that’s still a wolf
Who rests upon a quilt.
The dagger driven deep inside her throat they are not fatal
And lessons learned there will be none,
To She Death is a fable.
My hunters line up in front of graves that yawn for you and me.

We live our lives in safety so life we’ll never see. 


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