Inkling Of Jackals
While you putter and sputter and wander room to room forgetting
there are jackals on the moon. They nip and shiver in a hidden corner of the Lake of Dreams, a secret pocket of atmosphere just big enough to make a den, a home, a scratching ground. Black eyes shine from once red-brown-white coats, now just ashen tufts of moondust, moondust, pale gray. The pups scramble up from their rough and tumble, fall silent, and sit still, narrowing their eyes and curling their ears at the little blue marble in the wet ink sky.
They are waiting for your Howl.
From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat
Brook Bhagat’s poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and humor have appeared in Monkeybicycle, Empty Mirror Magazine, Harbinger Asylum, Little India, Rat’s Ass Review, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and other journals and anthologies. She and her husband Gaurav created Blue Planet Journal, which she edits and writes for. She holds an MFA from Lindenwood University, is an assistant professor of English at a community college, and is writing a novel. Her poetry collection, Only Flying, is due out Nov. 16, 2021 from Unsolicited Press.
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