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A Girl
Cheetah in tamarillo dress
purple ink night flowing over pale skin
given to candlelight partial to Old Tree incense
Sumerians briefly tamed her
deified by Egyptians;
Five million years behind her long legs lithe body
flex twist motion fast persimmon
hair caught under sage green hat;
Honey salt voice commands men heals their wound
echoes from a distant savannah past
plains, foothills where she's often mistaken
for a bird; Cheetahs
long extinct here;
eschewing gazelle, rabbit for peanut
butter and bread, coffee so thick dark
hands tremble hearts touch;
Feline independence: whisper your worries dreams
sins she listens
dearly echoes you, emancipates
us from our guilt to
wander explore transmogrify from whatever dusty
dry empty
place we choose realize our ancient
spirit kin good evil dancing the duel of life ours
so brief; always celebrate her
loneliness cast from her gait as she meets her
twin, her mate's soul is
older than all of us.
Rebecca Rowe is a writer from Colorado most recently published
in the May issue of Ascent and the March issue of Sol Magazine.
When she is not writing, she hikes the Sangre de Christo mountains
and sand dunes for inspiration.
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