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September 18 - September 18, 2016
am Ivan. I am a gorilla. It’s not as easy as it looks.
Chimps. There’s no excuse for them.
Beyond the lot is a freeway where cars stampede without end. A giant sign at its edge beckons them to stop and rest like gazelles at a watering hole.
Anger is precious.
Our circus doesn’t migrate. We sit where we are, like an old beast too tired to push on.
The glass says you are this and we are that and that is how it will always be.
The man wipes the glass and then I am gone.
Mostly I think about what is, not what could be. I’ve learned not to get my hopes
It’s not so bad, I wanted to tell the little boy. With enough time, you can get used to almost anything.
Stella is a mountain. Next to her I am a rock, and Bob is a grain of sand.
If you are a circus elephant and you stand on your hind legs while a dog jumps on your head, you get a treat. If you do not, the claw-stick comes swinging.
Elephant hide is thick as bark on an ancient tree, but a claw-stick can pierce it like a leaf.
“Old age,” she says, “is a powerful disguise.”
Gorillas are not complainers. We’re dreamers, poets, philosophers, nap takers.
“There’s a difference,” Stella says gently, “between ‘can’t remember’ and ‘won’t remember.’” “That’s true,” I admit. Not remembering can be difficult, but I’ve had a lot of time to work on it. “Memories are precious,” Stella adds. “They help tell us who we are. Try remembering all your keepers.
“A good zoo,” Stella says, “is a large domain. A wild cage. A safe place to be. It has room to roam and humans who don’t hurt.” She pauses, considering her words. “A good zoo is how humans make amends.”
“Humans can surprise you sometimes. An unpredictable species, Homo sapiens.” Bob still looks
“Bad humans killed my family, and bad humans sent me here. But that day in the hole, it was humans who saved me.” Ruby leans her head on Stella’s shoulder. “Those humans were good.” “It doesn’t make any sense,” Bob says. “I just don’t understand them. I never will.”