What Happens?
Not all of
the wolves are gray.
Some are
invisible. They howl
just at
night when you are
almost asleep.
You take a deep
breath, maybe
your last, let it
out slow. In your chest you first
feel, then
hear their sound, soft
and
low. Do you dare take another?
What happens
when the wolves
are gone,
and you are left
with only
your thoughts, no sound,
no wind, maybe
a face
in the rain,
alone?
—Donnell
Hunter
21 January 2012
A personal note first: Have you sent an electronic copy of "Wolves" to Marcus? This poem equal the other Wolf poem in quiet intensity. I love the softness yet the necessity of it all. As I read I see that new piece of furniture in my room, a cylinder of oxygen, a box, with tubing and a bottle. My nurse, Amy, says, "yes, probably respiratory failure" when the time comes. This further medical-poetic insights assures me that that wolves will gather around my room, then leave me "alone" but not for long. Thanks
ReplyDeleteEmail on the way with "Wolves" attached for you to forward to Marcus. I struggled not to name this one "Wolves 2," but finally found a good title within the poem.
ReplyDeleteYour comment triggered today's poem. Maybe the Montana and Idaho wolf hunts will re-wipe them out or at least retard their howling.
Keep up the continuance.