By J.J. Tindall
The Mind is a Leopard
The mind is a leopard
in repose, elongated on a branch
of an acacia tree, lithe tail dangling
in the humid breeze, swatting
at giant mosquitoes and bloated bottle flies.
She scans the horizon for enemy and prey,
listening, inhaling, sensing energies
that men often portray as minor gods.
She just dreamt of jackrabbits
scattering as she flew above them light as a cloud,
swooping through a herd of impala,
heading toward a great, dead lake.
She knows damn well
what a dream is.
The mind is solitary, territorial
and hunts most often at night, hunting
for dreams, for perhaps
an hour’s honest rest.
She signals her peers through the tall, sharp
sour grass
with the whites of her paws and tail.
She remembers feeling at first abandoned
by her haughty, hissing mother, then finding shards
of reedbuck and springbok
left for her even when the mother
was herself starving.
She meditates on the razor-thin line
between help and hell.
So the mind is this sinewy panther,
champion of every fearful heart,
who knows precisely
what a dream is.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on June 25, 2018