If I am an elephant, you are too. Grey, and blowing bubbles in a mucky puddle from behind bars. I see my own reflection in the stirred water and it makes me flinch. Am I an elephant? How can I know when I see no elephants around me…when I am so alone. All around me are strange creatures in uniforms. Scrubbing me and my enclosure, giving me toys I don’t want. Somtimes, at night, I look up at the sky and I see my star. I stare at my star and I wonder if elephants someplace see my star too.

Am I an elephant? Ears so big, I can fan myself. Pinky grey like a dawn sky. Rain falls now. Grey like me. And I cry big elephant tears. Do elephants cry? Do elephants squeeze tears from between great, grey lids? Do elephant’s have long, curling eyelashes like me and big, brown eyes? If I am an elephant, why do kids point at me and laugh. My world is not funny. Are elephant tusks meant to be short like mine; cut by my cheeks in case I hurt someone.

Am I an elephant? Yes? Where are elephants like me? I don’t know…I cry.