That Which I Consider Untamable

Abstract

81 PAIGE QUIÑONES That Which I Consider Untamable • There is an animal behind my house. I can smell him from my bedroom. At night, he pulls at the cellar, claws shapes into trees with scores so deep they pulse. An X, an eye, a goat. Mornings, there are birds in neat rows on my doorstep. Starlings, meadowlarks: each breast splayed open like a gentleman’s waiting hand. I can only imagine his mouth, that primitive hole, lined in feathers as if Hope were a word he could craft. I see him sometimes at the bottom of my stairs, spine low, darkness slinking closer. I light more lanterns. I caught him once, coming away with only a fistful of black and silver fur. Though I keep this tuft in a jewelry box, it is not enough. I would like his entire pelt. I would like to lie in it. ...