here. at the dumb stroke of midnight. in the glass dome of roses.
the woods at the end of the lake. I was taught where to wait
patiently. to fold my hands on my lap like two sorry doves. to tie
my shoes in knots too tight to unravel. it’s incredible how the oceans
meet and trade salinity. how carbonation stings our throats, but we keep
drinking. I was never a wolf, but a girl with a red-brick house. a girl with
a bicycle made of puzzle pieces. I wasn’t a deer. I wasn’t a lamb. all my wars
with the concrete were over. I’m driving alone to everywhere I am going.
I can’t strip my skin away. my fur. my wolf teeth. yellow and dull.