Page 20
By Miriam Fisher
TW: @MiriamFisherLit
THE CAT WHO LEARNED TO FLY Leonine eyes glitter a kaleidoscope of jaundiced yellows and browns in the moonlight. They rock back on their muscular haunches and heave their leaden bodies against gravity again and again, claws extended to barb her legs. Blood drips from her torn feet into indignant jaws, piquing their hunger. They are insatiable. Still she ascends, her beatific face turned upwards. She holds the silvery thread gently between soft pads, her own claws retracted lest they sever her line to the moon. Their faces dissolve in the jungle melee until they are just blurred memories, sinking into the fissures of the landscape.