Adorn the
Laurels
Elisabeth Horan
Listen to the first and last time
I will write about myself -
My nose was broken and
my paws wind-chiseled
My days of glory ended
with Moses’ crossing of a line
I want to walk in Africa
no more beholden to Khafre
plateaued in platitude
I could hunt up some Thompson’s
pant by a river
lick my sisters
I will never taste water
nor walk in a garden
I am only sandstone eroding
I long to shed my headdress for
I am not Cleopatra
Taylor’s moss-green eyes - in Egypt?
My darling Antony, neither are you Burton.
But it doesn’t really matter
I have no claws
10
Cauldron Anthology