Eyes wide,
head crouched low,
back arched,
hair standing on end;

it is difficult to approach
a feral cat.

It is difficult
to convince them
you mean no harm–
that you will not
hurt them.

Slow moving hands
leave more time
to ruminate, and
how should a cat know
the difference between a whisper
and a hiss?

How long before
they’re no longer worth
the effort?

A beaten dog
will bare their teeth
when they feel cornered–

front paws firmly planted,
grasping the ground,
low rolling growl
erupting from throat
to upturned jowl;

to protect themselves,
skin will tear,
and bruise,
and bleed
because

an open palm
is as easily prepared
to strike as to caress.

If there’s enough blood,
they’ll be put down.

It’s said that
animals have a sort of
sixth sense
to see the things
that others can’t–
that others won’t–

and so,
houses become haunted
in a playful sort of way;
when a pet stares fixedly
at a blank spot
on the wall, but

can you believe–
truly believe
in the things that you can’t see?
The ghosts that hide in gestures
that weren’t always yours,
or the spirits residing in
sentences and silences
that were once
weaponized?

Will you laugh
at fargone eyes
staring into nothing,
or shout when signs of
survival begin to
test your patience?
When nights are restless
and days are wasted,
will you be patient?

Can you hold space
for a haunted heart,
or is this foster
a failure?