the white fox

What I’m wondering is Aaron watching the national geographic
Channel with my young chocolate brother instead of white watching
the news footage of the mass mob arrests
massacre nothing changes massacre be enough to keep him away
from harm? We are on my bed sobbing for what we’ve done
to the white foxes, the male we’ve bonded with on-screen
whose search for foxes on the melting ice has led him
to an island of polar bears and arctic birds and he is desperate, it is mid-
summer and he is starving and soon the freeze
will drive all life back into hiding, so he goes for it,
the deadly hunt, the canine sharp teeth
and armored claws for tearing, the connected weapon
they create en masse, the whole island a system
for the fierce who, in fear, huddle
together, who, in fear, fight back. This is not an analogy.
The fox is hungry, but the polar bear was also hungry, and they fight back.
A mother pushes her kit into the icy water to protect it
But then loses it
and claws the hunter through the legs, the neck,
his blood clotting his fur as he whimpers into the ice
only feet away from the fray—where the and polar bears
have gathered again, sensing the threat has passed and will feast on their meal.
My brother’s holding his stuffed animal, the white body
of the fox he loves, who will die tonight (who
has already died) and my brother asks me if this is for real.
What I’m asking is how long will we stay seals,
he and I, though I know this is not an analogy.

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