To An Injured Fox Cub - With Thanks To Michael Coy

Today I found you cornered, drenched in cold, your fur coat nothing but a newborn's down, a tiny ball unfolding while I hold you shivering. Your lacerations frown and at a distance, I can see the why of your abandonment, the birds of prey. I’ve saved you, but you’re causing me to cry: serrated weapons, Nature’s passion-play, as blood-attracted sharks, still circling, wait: I sense the breath-starved fright that made you flee, those teeth, those claws, you were their blameless bait. You can’t yet comprehend that you are free. I see the wounds, some healed, some raw and new, they're deep, beyond the matted fur and skin. Four little paws, so tender, sprawled askew, I seem to feel that you and I are kin. You mark each move. Mistrustful eyes, so green, incapable of rest, stir to suggest you'll try to bite if I will try to clean the bloodclots, so I hug you to my chest. You flinch to feel my cuddle. Have I planned some fiendish way to torture you anew? The tiny space your wretched life has spanned has taught you only suffering is your due. Careful now, I’ll wrap you in a cloth, And whisper words you cannot comprehend. Oh tiny one, you're no more than a moth! It’s alright now. You’ve come across a friend. Your warmth is blossoming against my breast. I want to teach you gentleness and calm. There’s nothing here to threaten you: so rest, You’re safe now from anxiety and harm. I'll guard you through the night until you sleep, until the chesty wheezing eases up. This is protectiveness, it's seated deep: I’ll always help a vulnerable pup. Your heart is racing hard against my hand, awaiting pain, as wizened captives do. Believe me, Little One, I understand. For I have been a broken prisoner, too. *** May 30, 2017 Copyright © Darren White