Image courtesy of Wikimedia/gary Whyte
If there must be
winter at least
I will wear this
leopard print
cape of a coat,
thick faux fur
smelling of dried
jasmine and sweat,
drawing friends near
to stroke gingerly
the animal of it.
I leave it
in a field,
and it becomes
a fox and her kits’
most luxurious bed.
I dangle
raw meat,
and a sound—
part purr, part growl—
rises from
the plush.
If I rest it
on my lap, it coils
fevering under
my touch.
Sometimes I
finger its folds,
pet it with
a rare patience,
and am sure
it sighs.