Concrete was all I’d known
for years under my feet
since stolen, heartbroken calf
wrenched from my herd,
dead mother maimed, left.

I heard their cries, my own
among them, sisters, cousins
chained on ship or plane –
we knew not where but wished
only for our mothers long gone.

Starved and thirsty, I did tricks
to survive, but this existence,
barely alive, memories of home
all but lost; damp hay in cage,
standing on sore feet all day.

Years crept by. I swayed, longed
for my sisters – saw only humans
through iron bars, I wept unheard;
I knew not how long they kept me
imprisoned, ankles raw, ears torn.

One day a new cage arrived, soft
hay and hands guiding me inside,
eventually a long ride, to where?
Emerged onto grass, to lovely trees,
I dusted, swam in mud ponds.

I felt myself failing, damage done,
humans thought me old, but feet
cracked, sold more than once, dead
calves long buried, I browsed trees
for the last time, too late to be saved.

Julie A. Dickson is a poet and YA writer, using prompts, nature and memories as poetic fodder. Her work appears in many journals including Misfit, Open Door and Blue Heron; she has served on poetry boards and as a guest editor. Dickson advocates for captive elephants.