Poem | Wolf

I emerged

grey and screaming. Howling

my wolf’s howl;

calling to a mother that didn’t understand

and a father that looked on with drooped eyes,

blinking hard, as if to wake up and try it all again.

I lay in their arms but itched

irritated, their soft unbroken skin catching

under my crowning claws.

I guess he saw them first.

Only holding me briefly, never to let me pierce;

never to let me mark him,

for that might make it real, I harm

therefore I am.

I learnt to walk on my hind legs as told,

clipped my nails, hid my fur.

They adapted as all did and held me when I was hurt,

hunted me when I hurt them.

I saw myself, gradually, in the mirror;

saw the forest fires in my eyes,

the habitual predator looking back from me,

the eyes of my father blazing

from my face, a sheep’s face

with wolf eyes.

I growled as I heard him growl at midnight,

every third Tuesday when I would not sleep.

I ate as he ate, when one fell behind.

I grew teeth as he’d bite.

I took his coat;

wrapped in it, swaddled like a baby

merging with the instincts of their parents.

I evolved as he did, for if you wear a coat so long

it becomes yours.

Alone in a pack, I transform

as he challenged me to,

White wool to grey fur in the full moon

of a living room lamp.