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We
passed from white June light into the dark;
the heavy red door shut "bang" behind us.
We blinked our eyes--adjusting.
The warm, earthy smell of bodies--
of life--
surrounded us;
we inhaled, and partook of it.
"It stinks in here!" Charlie shrieked.
But we identified, somehow,
in a primordial sense.
We felt the viscerality, the surge.
We, too, were like animals:
resisting inventions of soap,
starched clothes,
civility.
We wanted our cages as much as the gray possum did.
We released our energy as high as the bat flew--
beating its wings bloody against the wire.
We wanted to tie our own shoes and pour our own juice
as much as the snake wanted to catch her own mouse:
writhing,
struggling,
alive.
We held out our hands and pet the beasts,
but we were disturbed.
We wrenched out our hearts and presented them:
"Poor smelly baby," Lily cooed;
"You prob'ly want your mommy and a game of tag."
At five
we understood.
We too fought for freedom
In the shadowed room.
Originally published in the North Carolina
Poetry Society's
"Award Winning Poems, 2000"
Used with permission of the Poet.
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