There is only one lion, the wind
at your back, the call
of the wind, the song in the call, the tears
resting in the heart
of the song, the pull of the tears, the rainfall
that pulls at that longing
inside to bloom like a flower of deepest blue
with a circlet of gold
at its heart, bringing to mind the mane of a lion
you recall from child-
hood dreams or longings, the force that in thin
places takes other forms
and you wonder a moment if the stories might
be true and if really
there is only one lion, what that might mean for
the song that today
you play on repeat, grasping for its heart, hearing
for an instant a deeper beat
than your own heart, the footfalls of some lion
or hound or stray cat
following, hounding, pursuing, leading you forward
so windingly homeward.
Bonita Jewel lived in India from the age of 16 to 28. Now in central California with her family, she is a freelance editor. Her essays and poems have been published with upstreet magazine, Dos Gatos Press, and Christian Courier. Read more of her work at bonitajewel.substack.com
