365 Poems – 185 I Echoed The Wolves (Rough First Draft)

I Echoed The Wolves


I look back.

This is the moment

when everyone I know

should be screaming, crying,

not steadily, but in great bursts.


But I’m the only one amongst

the trees. Mother said never

echo the wolves. But I did.


Nothing shifts, then everything,

and they move, silent, like spectres.


I’m immobile with a different

cold, but still feel the first touch.


I can see their ribs.

Here I am, an invaluable

opening to strength.


One has a crown of my blood.


At no moment do I consider

being savage. I’ve no sorrow

to measure out. No fright to hold onto.


Anyone else would call this

a disturbing celebration.

But for me, it’s perfect.


While their mouths are still

steaming, they call to ghosts

of the forest, and we wait,

in a semi-circle, watching

my heart attract a frost.