The Fox by Emily Bilman

In the bus, people spoke about Covid-19.

Like swarms of sardines swirling round

And round the black-blue shadow 

Of the sea to reach the light, I imagined

Distant queues self-distancing in shopping

Malls before gaining the daylight outside.

In the bus, adolescents talked about

Masquerades, giggled, and laughed.

Then, unexpectedly, we heard the screeching 

Brakes as the bus halted in the middle 

Of a natural reserve. Through the large

Windows we saw a majestic red fox 

With a fur of amber gold crossing the strait

Road in the wan winter light, its torso

And long bushy tail all tainted in off white; 

Its pointed ears and taut snout were alert. 

Animals that keep a sylvan vigil in the forest

Move, hide, and hunt, sometimes uncloak 

Themselves warily. Separated by a verge  

From the bland gray asphalt road it traversed, 

The guileful and shrewd eyes of the fox shone

Like children’s agate marbles vying to target

Other marbles. Amazed at its beauty

I scrutinized the fox’s heedful steps 

As it entered the dark green fir forest

Heaved before us as an alpine totem.

Dr. Emily Bilman is a widely published poet who teaches poetry in her Stanza group in Geneva. Her three poetry books, A Woman By A Well (2015), Resilience (2015), and The Threshold of Broken Waters (2018) were published by Troubador, UK and Modern Ekphrasis by Peter Lang in 2013.  Her thesis is entitled The Psychodynamics of Poetry. 

She blogs on http://www.emiliebilman.wix.com/emily-bilman