the urban animal runs free.
through gutters, alleys, and timbering trees.
she sits atop shopping carts
waiting
and then dashes for
dropped crumbs
that we don’t know
we’ve lost.
up ahead of the creek.
a chipmunk.
a small thin frame
lined with slick brown fur
a white stripe along the spine.
but now, a spine pressed down
by my bike tire.
down by the river.
a fierce white bald eagle.
smoldering wing span.
her gust thrashes against my face.
i look down to the banks of the river
only wicked wires and waste.
there is no place to make a home.
a worm.
small but gracefully erect.
digging up the soil
i pull out bricks and leaves
while she looks up at me
with a quiet plea.
a home now gone.
thrown in a plastic bag by the garbage can.
over in the bushes.
a mole.
rugged brown hair with a slight wobble.
she darts past my crouched knees.
i tremble.
at home that i am now removing.
the untimely death
the absence of a home
the removal of your resting place
this is the real cage.
no locked doors. no feeding schedules.
it is a cage i have made.
even if the urban animal runs free.
