|
| instinct |
| she is |
| so intense in her fear: |
| her nostrils quiver |
| at the scent of society's danger; |
| caught in the glare |
| of each stranger's casual glance |
| she turns, |
| no defense except vigilance, |
| gracefully shivering |
| to the rhythm of footsteps that pass |
| and when my eyes |
| ensnared hers |
| I could feel her ask me to speak |
| for my humanness -- |
| its inborn evil... |
| © Jon Bohrn (1998) |
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