Paw

One of a million women on many buses to Pennsylvania,

I’m new meat. She’s a college senior. Alpha-stagger

assesses if this is a piece to be tossed or left—

if I can last the short-fast road between her paws.

She sets back the pack, brushes her curls

from her eyes. I believe my childhood cat

taught me how to receive her, how to welcome

after the previous smiles have failed.

I cannot take on her sorrow’s torch,

it withers bright beneath a roofless stare—

she wants me to stay.

My eyes travel Philly’s curbs,

enter the rust and tongueless Liberty Bell,

loop then double-constrict her wrists,

and we agree—bananas for safety.