Mythological Beasts
April 6 2025
She used to hand feed a flying squirrel;
a wild creature
attracted to a gentle soul.
But one I always thought
was a mythological beast
like gryphons and unicorns,
chimeric beings
cobbled together from borrowed parts;
as impure
as the squirrel with the wings of a bird
living in her backyard.
Except I learned that they don’t fly, they glide,
aerial creatures
precise as gymnasts
in their long swooping leaps
from branch to branch
and tree to hand.
So I know they’re real.
And can easily picture her,
standing motionless
at the accustomed hour
with one arm outstretched,
an offering of fruit and nuts
cupped in her hand.
A form of attachment
between animal and man
that defies labels;
not a dependency,
not master and pet,
and not exactly friend.
Nor could I say there was love, as we understand it;
yet a bond was formed,
a belonging of sorts
strong enough
to last for years.
She has fond memories
of her suburban childhood,
and it makes me think
that such a bond between man and beast
is for children only;
a privilege
reserved for the innocents
who are open to the world.
So no flying squirrels for us,
the grown-ups
of whom wild things
are rightly suspicious.
Because for all I’ve seen
gryphons and minotaurs
selkies and unicorns
could just as well be real.
All chimeras;
liminal creatures
who live between two worlds.
And a word
beginning with a softly fluid shhh
that suits them perfectly.
I picture the shimmer of light
on gently lapping waves,
a moonlit shadow
that waxes and wanes
as clouds drift overhead.
No comments:
Post a Comment