corner room4
By Anna Badua
For M + Artie + all other wildcats

There is a force that cannot be contained
If caged
would be a clawed arm
bleeding neck
a thrashing until let free
It is the spotted crooked tail
of the wild cat running the street
rummaging through garbage cans
the near miss of a moving tire
the loud hiss at a barking dog
It is not just the rubbing of legs
a flop and show of soft belly
not a jump in the arms
and a purr so loud
you feel a buzz in your chest
It is the slink of muscle
the sideways glance and flinch
as you reach for it
It is the jump off a two-story building
It is traversing the underlings of cars
Once cornered
black rimmed
copper eyes
large pupils
staring
hair on end
It is the backing away
and watching the wild cat
run the street
and simply
letting things
be

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