Brett Warren
Feral Muse
He sits ill-tempered in a slash of sun
that angles the driveway, or reclines, defiant,
on the trailer's steely wishbone. At dusk
he scales the fence to lurk beneath shrubs
when I'm out with the dog, as if he knows
she's gone deaf, blind—he can gloat at last.
One night I looked out at the first falling snow,
saw his surly shape glaring at the screen door.
His fur was as dull as he was sour, his ratty coat
the color of damp dirt. I thought I could let him
onto the porch, if not out of the cold. But
he flattened and hissed as I opened the latch,
and looked back with contempt as he slunk away,
an unfinished poem in his mouth.
Bio
Brett Warren (she/her) is an editor whose poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in various publications, including The Comstock Review, duality, Halfway Down the Stairs, Cape Cod Poetry Review, Right Hand Pointing, Eunoia Review, Unbroken Journal, Green Fuse, One Sentence Poems, Primavera, Cape Cod & the Islands Magazine, and Provincetown Magazine. She holds a BA in English literature from the University of California, Santa Barbara, and lives in Massachusetts.