The Second Jungle Book . Columbia TriStar . 1997 |
Mowgli and Me
I feel like Mother Wolf, defining lines with jungle vines and crouching when the calm get restless. War comes, Shere Kahn mad, mines the zone that shakes with Mowgli's fisted palm and pulse. He stands on rights, protects the den with me inside his hand. I act as balm I guess. It steadies frantic beats and when the rest stays wild -- it's less, at least. The tree limbs quiver, quake, let loose the regimen of coconuts -- dying to feed. I see the alpha wolf dispense the milk, demand the flesh. He's raised an unlike species, free of fangs and fours. His man-cub gains to stand on less, to swing with me inside his hand. ©2001 Peggy Putnam Owen |