i am grieving for this wolf         hole where
her heart should be          my cloak dyed red
from her blood       regret washes off
my hand         who holds her
now that the hole          has become a stone
     so heavy     it sinks her ;

eternal dream

   ; fever dream,   where every single thing to eat
   is one step      a head        where every turn
is a gun-toting grandma      firing     warning shots
   leaving                     passive-aggressive voicemails
wondering whether       i’ve found
   a good job                  a good man yet

the wolf hunts because she is hungry       cuts wood
because she is cold          pretended to be someone
she is not      because she is human       this winter
has been hard                  on every         body

i cannot forgive grandma       but cannot
fault her            for killing friend     (apparent
foe)                                              i, too,        value
my own life first                       i, too,       strike
before i am struck                    i, too,
would prefer to eat                  before i am eaten

this winter has been hard       so we will boil
her head            and make soup
grandma says    we are wolves too
we must be
if we want to survive

Read the rest of Overland 243

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