Autumn leaves had flamed into colors when she changed into a squirrel. She skittered up a tree and chattered at birds. Racing along a power line she swished her tail for balance. Clouds, white as rabbits, chased her from above. She escaped from the rain inside a treehouse. She made a nest out of her clothes and disappeared inside the spotted shell of an egg and hatched in a lightning flash upon hearing the thunderous roar of dinosaurs. In a mirror she saw the rapid expanse of her head, teeth and eyes – legs aching and growing horribly too. She clawed and attacked the tiny creatures – unicorns, spotted lions, furry dogs, doll-like people. Flailing them off mountainous bunk-bed plateaus and table ledges. They toppled to the valley floor where she kicked and stomped them with tyrannosaurus feet. She had become a terror. Frightening her prehistoric sister who flew screeching from the room – which signaled the end. She buried herself in the swamp of her closet and became extinct. But the grasp of alien arms transported her back to the future. Captured, her head examined, body probed, she was placed in a warm insulated capsule for further observation. She was warned to stay still and be quiet, or receive torture. She awoke hungry. Her enslavers had deprived her of food. Cleverly, she pretended to be a good girl and cleaned up the mess she had made before venturing down a dark passageway to sneak into their room. Crawling onto their large bed, she curled between them, and became a loving cat.
Excerpt from Light-Years in the Dark: StoryPoems (see more)