Sharing the Pool
Sweltering, I sit under a mulberry,
listening to the stream’s crisp chorus
burble into emerald pools, the largest
spanned by a service road bridge
where two brown cubs emerge,
shuffling, swaying toward water.
Nearby mother’s gleaming coat
magnifies the sun like a glass.
Should I stand?
Speak?
Run?
Mother huffs, admonishing
them against descent—
shoving them back with paws,
claws like paring knives.
I brandish
my walking stick.
I stand.
She rears up.
I turn.
She approaches.
I drum a water bottle, throw up
my arms, summon a howl.
She pauses.
They retreat.
A reunion of feet
and mind, I scramble
uphill
as they wade in.
*
Michael R. Evans, a full-time academic editor and writing tutor, lives in Los Angeles with two cats. He began writing poetry at Houghton University three decades ago while earning a BA in communication and writing. He has published poems and articles in small-format media, including newspaper travel articles about living in Russia in 1996. He has earned an MA in theology and the arts and authored Jesus, Fads, and the Media in 2006.
