The Lynx Speaks, by Susan Ioannou
The Lynx Speaks
Locked in winter,
mine is the stare of hunger.
Crouching under white spruce, I wait.
A squirrel? A snowshoe hare?
One grand spring—its neck
will snap in my fanged jaws.
I wait. I prowl. I wait.
—A ptarmigan? A vole?
Not even the tatters of a wolf-killed moose
to gnaw on?
Day and night,
mine is the glare of knowing.
My gaze hypnotizes the Two-Legged
hunters panting to warm themselves
in skins of my frosted grey fur.
My eyes burn
through lies, through fears, through you
—all secrets my brain buries beneath
great truths Ancestors whispered
down the long black tufts of my ears
and rituals they promised
my spirit to ease into death.
Alive, I stalk alone.
Mine is the snare of patience.
My paws slide soundless
circling this frozen forest.
Invisibility is my Medicine
dimensions and planes.
you may never glimpse me again.
Editor's note: The illustrating bronze is a placeholder image. Susan wrote this poem in response to the incredible Inuit sculpture, by Manasie Akpaliapik, Respecting the Circle, 1989. Please visit this link to view it, in order to receive the complete experience of the poem:
Canadian writer Susan Ioannou has published stories, literary essays, novels for young people, and several poetry collections. Her books of poems include Clarity Between Clouds(Goose Lane Editions), Where the Light Waists (Ekstasis Editions), Looking Through Stone: Poems about the Earth (Your Scrivener Press), Coming Home: An Old Love Story (Leaf Press), and Looking for Light (Hidden Brook Press). Her full Literary CV is online: www3.sympatico.ca/susanio/sioancv.html
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