Inner Animal

year of the mother wolf

---
May 1, year of the mother wolf

I was the wolf last night. I slipped easily into her body and strode, so close to the earth, and felt the smell of it. I was fluid, I was powerful sinews as poetry, I was hot-blooded, I was the howl of the night. And when her form slipped from me I loved my hands the most.

---
May 22, year of the mother wolf

When I was going over to the fountain I stopped and looked and there on the ground was a stone. It was rounded and long and when I picked it up it fit my hand somehow, one end being wider than the other; it lay flat and sweet in my hand. I put it in my pocket and felt the fabric of my dress pull. Felt the stone in the pocket against my thigh as I walked. Walked a little more slowly and thoughtfully, and, at the pool, looked in and really saw the water, or maybe saw past the water and more deeply into what I needed.

---
July 27, year of the mother wolf

Forgot the sand forgot the beehive. Cant sip the honey cant bear the breezes carving my hair into waves. Someone filches the milk of my mind, my hand is empty, palm up. Take hold like a seedling in the sand and slip past another growing season, roots bare as my leaves wither.

---
September 3, year of the mother wolf

Fishing. Having cast out and sitting,
I was not made to wait upon their folly.
Hunter in my blood, I simmer beside the river,
I glow in the dark,
I exude the perfume of a monster,
I thrash like a cranky crocodile.

---
September 14, year of the mother wolf

The Dance and A Puzzle: A doll's head
Leaning on a dusty corner
Her puckering face a curiosity.
Nasty wide open eyes have
A feigned innocence of one
Already raped and resigned
To more.

The Dance: silent feet through
The still air sparkling with dust motes,
A slit of sun slices the big empty room that
That captures time across generations estranged.
A pale dancer passess through them all with ease.

A Puzzle: its pieces strewn
The relief of their edges formal, logical.
I sit and stir the puzzle bits: Their little tabs are like smug arms.
The mess is complete without being assembled.
Don't have to see the picture.

---
November 30, year of the mother wolf

At last it broke.
And after the silence of a breath held -- Light.

Dawn,
A blinding slash above the hills,
Shut down the night
And all who lurked withdrew into shadow.

Poised above the leavings of Night
Her warm juice pumped.
Mother wolf yawned
A big satisfied, teeth-bearing grin.

And that was it.
She turned and stepped away
From the carcass of the half-eaten looser,
So triumphant she could afford
To leave the rest to worms.

---
December 9, year of the mother wolf

I was the wolf again last night and I tasted raw blood in my mouth. I moved very fast and steady through the scenes, tasted, smelled, saw, but never finished anything.