Wild

Our hunger was
never so animal
as it was on
the Cold Moon,
never so bloody
as the first
of the month.

We salivated;

the slick of the bone,
the cut of tooth
on tenderloin.

Counted pulse beats
and tick of time,
dripped words
like weapons.

In a hurry,
panting and
pacing, a dog,
not of war,
but of conquest,
of revolution.

By winter we
didn’t have enough
meat on our bones
to gnaw against our gums.

We never really
learned how
to survive
off of more than
each other,

to scavenge feathers
falling soundless,
the ruffle of the lost.

It was our isolation
that buried white teeth
deep in the earth.

*

In Between

the woman I was
is desperate to find
conciliation with
the woman I am

we come together
inside aging skin
and seek a stretch
of days to cradle
what cannot be forfeit

I must create the new
out of parts of what was

there is a gift
to be said for the seasoned
mixed with the essential
and all the slippery spots
in between

not yet finished