Mother of Wolves   Leave a comment

From Persephone’s Girlhood on July 19, 2015

I did not want to become what I became;
the vague outline of my body
in the mist. Your fists falling through –
you missed this; even just the
memory of this. My face pressed close
and warm. My kiss. I did not want for
my heart to fade or change,
but you pushed me to the treeline
where there was damp and rot
and autumn fog. The leaves had left
your back walking away for miles
in my eyes like the dying stars
I kept too long. And when you found
me there, years later, standing still –
lips snarled and wolves sleeping
at my feet, you could not believe it.
I had no words. I had no words.
Only the vague outline of my body
– only this –
a mouth full of blood I could not
decide to swallow or spit –
and the mist – and the face you had missed
grown cold and clear
in the distance.

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