Rediscovered;

Fossilised,
she ought not to be prowling now.
Dismissed,
with stripes well-earned on my breast,
I rise.

‘That creature’s extinct,’ they’d said.
Her sensual paws - dead.
Like mine, her pouch
stretched and unexpectant.

But she
approaches, musky, slick.
Cut black slashes at their eyes
as they witness an impossible return,
the heat of a surviving beast.

They cry ‘Thylacine live,
she is with us once more.’
And I taste blood in their howl,
my roar.