She tells her pets they are safe, not letting them see her fears. Once she could only draw them, but now they are here; they move about freely, pleased to keep her company. When the door of her room is opened, they could get away. And she as well, seeking them without making a sound in the dark. Brushing past in an instant into the street and down an alley.

She would have to plan ahead and have her coat on already. The fish bowl inside, held by one hand not in its sleeve. She could keep her eyes on the ground and her hood up, and perhaps, from a distance, she would appear to be a woman with child, worthy of assistance rather than report. Kitten and guinea pigs in pockets; the bird following from fence to tree to roof. Somewhere there must be a train. The one that brought her from the orphanage. Wouldn’t her friends there be amazed to see her pass by, attended by her new companions. Headed for a forest, and a meadow by a sparkling river. Maybe a small house there, where a woman lives alone. She in need of someone to clean and do washing. Goats to milk...

black bars     and within 
the tiger’s flicker 
in moonlight 

blue floor 
a kind of sky 

but no leaves to leave through 

*The Pets (oil on academy board, 1856) by American artist
Eastman Johnson (1824–1906) is held by the National Gallery of Art:
https://www.nga.gov/artworks/178096-pets

Bio: Daryl Scroggins