by A.J. Huffman
I become Eve to your Adam,
though you have no discernable signs
of having recently lost a rib.
I bite anyway,
pierce red skin
with foreshadowing teeth. I hold
my breath. You take
my hand and for a moment I wish
it had been poisoned.
upon a squirrel in quiet
contemplation of his universe.
Yard and tree holding
limitless possibilities, a fascination
I know all too well. My breathing
must have disrupted his concentration.
Tiny furred head cocked my way
for a moment, tilted
in adjustive comprehension, returned
to original point of focus. I
was already assimilated as background,
temporary noise, disregarded.
I envied this rapid-fire assessment,
yearned for the ability to decipher
trivial trash from true treasure, imagined,
for a moment, it was my paws
poised in prepatory flight, yet standing
frozen and fearless, in appreciative awe.
It must be ink.