he is wild & troubled. angry
at invisible things. at my mother’s
house, he stays outside for hours
by himself, his tail stiff & upright,
on the prowl. even when he contorts
his body into a sitting position or
curls into a circle on the doormat,
the brick, he remains frozen &
stock-still, glaring at the cool
morning fog the rest of us
have become accustomed to.
it is daylight but still, threats
& danger lurk. he sees cardinals
feast on caterpillars. how shadows
disappear the higher the sun
rises, & is terrified of becoming
prey himself. then, what to me
is silence, not even a sound,
sends him standing up &
barking. he runs so fast
he’s panting in seconds. growls
erupt out of his mouth all the way
from his stomach. i want to know
what he’s listening to, what he thinks
is out there. sometimes, a neighbor’s
dog barks from five houses away
& without a word, he turns into a tail-
spin, spitting & lunging at what
he hears but cannot see. he is
protecting himself but from what?
fighting who? no matter that he
knows only of urbanity. he recognizes
the sound of different car engines
better than bird calls, can follow
the crazed route of a house fly.
but perhaps the wilderness never
leaves you. the land does not
forget & the echoes of dark
forests can be found anywhere.

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Sofía Aguilar (she/they) is a Chicana writer, editor, teaching artist, community organizer, and library professional based on the traditional homelands of the Tongva, Kizh, and Chumash peoples (Los Angeles, California). Her work has appeared in the L.A. Times, Latino Book Review, Acentos Review, and New Orleans Review, among other publications. She is the author of amor. (Bottlecap Press) and Queer Latine Heroes: 25 Changemakers from Latin America and the U.S. from History and Today (Jessica Kingsley Publishers). Her next poetry collection STREAMING SERVICE: the series finale is slated to release in March 2026. She can be found at sofiaaguilar.com or on social media @sofiaxaguilar.