The Wolf in Me

This madness.
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.

Musepaper Poem Prize #10

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.