by Olivia Lee
My eyes gleamed
star reflecting light
in the dark heat
in the lone night.
I tracked, ungloved, and pounced.
I left a lizard at your door.
I velveted my claws—stretched, yawned, and pawed;
I left no blood on the floor.
And when your hand reached down,
I then lifted my face.
I elegantly arched my neck
to push your fingers into place.
I leaned forward
so your fingers fell
along the curve of my spine,
around the whip of my tail—
You scolded me for killing
before your hand drifted away,
but I knew those words
were at least half in play.
You called me “Killer”
before you knew,
but every life I took
I only took for you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Olivia Lee is a poet, novelist, playwright, and English professor. She has published two novels: The Unfading and The Unbinding. She is committed to fighting human trafficking and supporting Fair Trade products. She is thankful for her racial equity community group, The Social Justice Exchange. She is a feminist, loves to travel, and loves books. She enjoys the woods around her home, spending time with her sister and their dogs, and listening to music.
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