Angie Macri

She found the wolf in her throat and called it good.
It took her songs and used her bones
to run without fear of being trapped or shot,
not realizing at first those were her fears as well.
Men liked to whistle when she went by, so the wolf
learned to keep an eye on them
so that she never had to look herself. She could judge
distance by the sound. She could feel
the hairs on her neck rise. She knew if they came
too close, the wolf would climb
out of her mouth, and this would hurt
more ways than one but yet would keep them both
alive. Maybe if she moved fast enough,
that time would never come. The wolf liked
the beat of her blood.