A Mother’s Work

When the cheetah runs
she doesn’t run in place
she runs for her family
for survival
motherhood is her calling
tornado in a teacup
twisting, zipping
the impala banks left
pirouetting in a flash

The cheetah isn’t finished

She glides in sand
paws stretched
back sleek as a bullet
tumbling in a flurry of dust and hooves
predator and prey
dance on a knife edge

Dust settles
and the cheetah rises
dragging her kill
so she may feed her cubs
and survive another day

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