I Dreamed Wolf
I dreamed wolf,
forging a way through ferocity,
strange yellow sight a revelation
only this coming together,
a struggle to know
something about self
and something about the larger world.
I could not say if I had a choice.
If there was bravery,
it was embedded in fate.
I swallowed the wild
and became as true as anyone could,
anyone burdened with conscience and regret.
Who Would Believe It Was November?
The pencil flew out of her hands.
Is there anything I can say,
he wondered, to make her love me?
It hadn’t rained in weeks.
The sun was sucking at bones.
The dogs were rolling the dice.
She tried on a red dress, then a blue one.
Is my hair too long, she asked,
and could I be more fluent?
He was gnashing his teeth.
He wished he’d become a wrestler.
I could release my tension, he thought,
perhaps convince her to try harder.
Who would believe it was November?
No one could stop the anger
or the shadows from moving across the house
or the believers from praying out loud.
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