The Wolf in Me
This wolf that won’t let go
won’t absolve me or allow me to forgive—
If I could shoot it in the heart, I would.
No. That would be suicide.
It loves me; it does.
Its teeth that shine, its teeth that lick.
A purpling wound, a twilight.
Deep velvet pleasure. And then
the shame. I’m no crazier than our shattered
precious world. Its light that explodes
leaving darkness behind.
I tried, you know. Tried turning away from its raw
hot breath. Tried locking the windows.
Folded and creased a hundred origami doves.
For an hour, maybe two, safety visited me.
Hah. Looked in the mirror and there—
my skin peeling away, the wolf crawling out.
Ginny Lowe Connors is the author of several poetry collections, including Toward the Hanging Tree: Poems of Salem Village. Connors has also edited poetry anthologies, including the recently published Forgotten Women: A Tribute in Poetry. The editor of Connecticut River Review, she also runs a small poetry press, Grayson Books.