Within the Wolf

Visiting grandchildren are
nothing but bad. This day
started with a wolf attack.

Squeaky demands dimmed
by the walls of muscle
and skin, by the humming of
blood through veins.
His voice rumbles in my
pressed-close ears, a father's
low and reassuring.

It's better to hear him than to see him,
much better.

So much waiting,
like the ticking of a clock,
the growling of a stomach,
and I don't know whether it's mine
or his.

The gentle squeezing of the womb,
the reassuring beating of a constant heart,
until the violence stops it.

They pull me out of my rolled position,
a girl's shaking hand
and a strong man's forceps grip.

A hunter, with red paws
and satisfied grin.

And I'm out, reborn
at the end of my life.

Sticky with birthing fluid,
I'm naked, and the air
around me chills.


Blog Widget by LinkWithin