Hunted

My black is silent as the core of an iris

is dark as an obsidian gem

My black is night

We move through it with ease

the woman with groceries didn’t hear our paw padded sneakers creep on the concrete behind her

We are hunters

The red heart beat flashes blood as we run, tracking mis-deedful prints

I dodge black bodies swinging in my night

jump fenced hurdles

while some turn and fight

refusing to become the hunted

We unload barks that reach to the moon, resonate through people’s bedrooms, and shatter darkened windows

My claws grip the bricks as I maneuver past them

down an alleyway

into the corner

keeping low

and to the shadows, comfortable like warm pillows

I am a… lone, quiet and antsy

listening to the sound of my night stained by blood and rain

I whimper to mother moon

Save me from this city

She doesn’t hear me?

Return to the prowl hungry

from unanswered howls.