If she were not born human she would have been a panther with hummocking eyes and steel paws and brick for flesh she would have licked that pink tongue over them black lips and whiskers when her gut overflowed when a catch beckoned or when she wanted to f___. If she were not born human she would have been a hunter that shimmied about thickened masses of branches that dug their own roots and a priestess queen of an elegiac jungle where mocking birds fed her songs she swallowed and longed for nothing.
But Mrs. Dalloway was born human.
Grey with hunched shoulders/
Mostly wrinkled and drowning/
Searches the duchesses’ garbage/
For relics and recognitions/
Of a past life/