let’s talk about our bleeding hearts,
what it means to call those bloody parts
by their names…
yes, here we are telling stories about them,
telling stories about women and wolves.
there are also stories
–corollaries to these lupine tales–
of feminine triumph and guile,
(stories of the torn, the disappeared and devoured)
and to whom would we show them to?
so let’s us weave with words
epistolary and elevated,
eloquent and ebeneous.
let’s tell us our secrets
and set each other free.
we can walk
down by the river
deep, and dark with
told secrets, cold silent
secrets told in winds and
moans, shrieks, of lightning
shimmering, flashing, and
dancing down to earth
called by our long
our pockets will be full of stones
there, down by the river deep.
our mouths will be safe, closed
over all the words we spoke,
the secrets that we shared
and the words
we wished we’d said
(and the words that wished
we had said them too)…
why, they shall be our catechism,
our communion for sisters of blood
and dull loss and bright victory
over empty wombs and hurt that looms,
lurking and lappaceous.
and those wolves, those lonely wolves
shall fall silent, denied their howls by ours
and our words spoken and unspoken,
our silence shattered and unbroken,
our secrets shared
and the river will ever again always
be ours and carry the flow of our tales,
our stories of
women and wolves
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