Wednesday Poem: "What a Wolf Knows"

How to be alone

The story of this poem: I’ve talked with a few folks recently about the skills that our chaotic upbringings fostered within us. The common thread seems to be that while we cannot deny our elevated strength, we wish we never had to gain it.

WHAT A WOLF KNOWS

My mother’s teeth. 
Sibling-shoulders.
The moods of the moon.

Air that means run,
Air that means hide,
Air that means meat on the bone. 

Hunger together. 
Hunters’ hearts. 
Blood shining on snow. 

Pines in the night.
Claws against acorns. 
How to be alone.