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When the Fox Comes to the City
for Hans who said he comes at night and is sly
No, he is not sly when he comes, not wily.
He is inquisitive. He doesn’t look at me
but I know I am in his regard,
he wants to know what I have done with my life.
He is patient and will not back off.
When the fox comes to the city he brings news
of the wilderness I have lost,
he brings word of the ancestors,
he curls his tail around me like a stole.
We are wrapped together,
inside his fur I am all rust and fire.
No, it is not night; it is not glum,
when he comes, but, yes, there is snow
and the red richness of the fox crossing it,
running beside the car-crowded avenues.
When he goes away, he heads west,
under the underpasses and out beyond
to the banks of the long long river.
Patricia Fargnoli (website) is a retired psychotherapist and former poet laureate of New Hampshire. She has been writing poems for over 30 years and has published three award-winning books and three chapbooks. Her recent publications include such journals as The Harvard Review, Ploughshares, Nimrod, Poetry International and Green Mountains Review.
qarrtsiluni 