These men from my past,
cropping up like tumbleweeds
from the East Coast,
full and bristly as they roll across my path.
They see me as this sexual creature,
hunted but not captured.
I am the elusive quarry
they fantasize about—
still trying to net me in their dreams,
hold me in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Florida.
I am a wild beast.
I need wide open spaces of the desert
to hunt and kill, run free,
to sing with the moon,
dig my toes in the sand.
I would die in your matrimonial jails,
a caged animal with tears in my eyes.
Let me be free;
visit me on wild safari.
I will wave to you from afar.
Take pictures to capture me.
2015 copyright by Katie Pifer http://www.witchpetals.wordpress.com