Joan I. Siegel
He does not wait for the sun’s return.
Instead he makes a pillow of darkness
to stretch inside this longest night.
To burrow deep as if it were
the foot of the bed, his rightful place
for twenty years beside our sleep.
His eyes alert and green as wide
savannahs where his kind began.
From time to time his head rears up
to roar at pain, then lowers it
to listen. Teaching us who’d hold
him back the way of animals—
his body patient with itself,
unlocking slowly cell by cell.
More to Explore
