Alanna C. Burke

Blink

In the grey light, in the cold, we are the only visitors at the wildlife refuge. My friend had hoped to sculpt the mountain lion but the animal is old, flabby, not the best specimen. The lion rises up in the too-small enclosure, plants his legs in the barren dirt and stares at us all. Mindful of our smaller cats at home, I make eye contact with the lion then slowly blink and blink again. Flesh swaying, the old cat lopes over to rub his head along the glass next to me, then rolls on his back in the dirt and purrs and purrs.

who are you
bird whose song
has lifted my heart