Feathers
The housecat was left here to die.
Cold rain, a rough wind coming:
West-North-West.
People are dying, girl-
It’s just a cat.
Am I not permitted to feel for a
pitiful wet creature, found stiff,
curled up in my garage?
As likely punishment, somebody’s dad
packed it up as his daughter cried.
He tells her the cat is a thing:
discard
recycling
trash.
He drove miles out of the suburb,
Stopped along a quiet country road,
and just… threw it out.
This is about the pile of feathers in my yard.
A scared stranger was hungry,
trying to find home.
Autumn Knepp is a writer and naturalist from North-central Pennsylvania. From her home nestled along the Appalachian Front, she explores all which the countryside can offer. Her debut chapbook, Wilder Places, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. Find her on Instagram at @autumndannay and on her website at autumndannay.com.