By K. Tazuko Marciales
She is named for an Egyptian princess,
wrapped in gold and desert winds,
stalking, belly low, ears twitching
at the cowbird’s thin notes.
Her paws press into soft ground-
sweetgum leaves crackle in fanfare.
Creation watches.
Her vassals kneel.
The yard is a forgotten paradise,
tall fescue whispers things she’ll conquer.
Once, streets spread to the sea,
now reclaimed by soil,
watered by hurricanes,
where blackberries and horsetails return.
She retreats to her palace—
marble floors, a twilight throne.
Her sleek form rests
knowing Mark Antony waits for her.
