27 July 2010 | Vol. 10, No. 2
The Owners, the Animals
The officer shot the chimp
after it ripped from a woman
her eyes, nose, jaw. Chunks
of scalp and hair torn out.
As if weeds, as if gardener.
And the chimp's owner swore
to the reporter she'd do it again,
raise the creature as offspring until
the mauling, the demolished
face, the frenzy, the bullets
piercing the animal flesh,
again. What stunned the reporter
didn't shock me. Some of us
toast the feral beasts and drink
to the owners because we, too,
repeat the great mistake
of love. Even now, years after
my friend's wife dreamt she evolved
from birds with hollow bones
like wineglass stems.
Years after I proved this true
by touching her lips
with a trembling, wet fingertip
and she sang. I'd do it all again,
the finger, the singing, and again without
warning, what we thought
was tame would unavoidably turn
brutal and against us.
About the author:
Michael Schmeltzer earned an MFA from the Rainier Writing Workshop at Pacific Lutheran University. He helps manage A River & Sound Review and is a two-time nominee of the Pushcart Prize. His work appears or is forthcoming in New York Quarterly, Los Angeles Review, Water~Stone Review, Main Street Rag, Crab Creek Review, and Fourteen Hills, among others. He lives in Seattle with his family.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Michael Schmeltzer at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 10, No. 2, where "The Owners, the Animals" ran on July 27, 2010. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
