A Fox's Flight
By Eileen X
Published 20 May 2023
Who made hope?
Who made fear?
Who made the creatures —
skittering away at the suggestion of care?
This creature, this fox,
the one that stares with flickering eyes,
the one who's fur bristled in caution.
Of matted coat and dirt and grime,
flaking blood buried deep in the crevices,
sticking clumps of fur intertwined.
Seeing the twitch of hand as a threat and the step forward a warning —
It flees.
I don't know how to be adamant, to pretend
to dismiss uneeded affectionate attention,
of faux praise and approval.
Tell me, how else should I react?
When every slip of tongue another future lie?
Tell me, do you plan to continue
your deflections and escapes of worry?