skip to Main Content

She barely raises her head
to leer at me from the hooded
corners of her eyes.

I’ve given up taking away her loot—
the ribcages and quarters
lazy hunters didn’t cart away.

This late season, as light thins
and trees spend their leaves,
I flinch

when you pad up behind me,
tasting rut and musk on my neck,
light from the half-open blinds

slicing me in two.
I want to want,

though I can’t will it.
Maybe that’s enough.

Many thanks to JMWW for publishing this poem. Please visit them here to see it as it originally appeared, alongside two more of my poems and the fine work of many other poets.

Back To Top