Wolf

If I gave in, crumbled, tumbled down like night falling into your arms, would you catch me and put the stars back in the sky? What if I am not as strong as you would want me to be? I’m not interested in being twisted by a dare, I am afraid to care too much. I know that you are not playing. I know that your aim is true. I need time to reorganize my head, rid myself of dread and own myself again, before I can give myself to you, and mean it the way that you want me to. I am afraid to have you think less of me and be a prisoner of that. I am afraid of the power that you have and what you have awakened in me. I have to keep control of it now, keep the tides on their schedules and the planets where they belong. I listen to the old songs and all the words fall like soft rain on the water , disappearing inside,  indistinguishable one from the other in the moments of the storm and this is how I see myself with you.

The Wolf was standing in the street, massive black and charcoal, looking at me, you, looking at me. You are The Wolf, standing between me and he who walked in the shadows, so much purpose in his stride, how could I not be frightened? I did not know he always takes his steps that way, always going somewhere, always meaning business.


You had seen them take me away. Sitting there in the back of that car never having felt so precious, never having felt so inside myself, on the verge of sliding my soul through the door to escape, on the verge of hysterical laughter screaming until I was free from my body and streaking down the street on white light rails, my body would have disappeared out of the car then and that son of a bitch in the drivers seat would have had a lot of explaining to do later on. 


I am in too deep. You have done exactly what you intended to do, transformed in the moonlight to let me know it had been you all along. The Wolf in the footlights, the Wolf down the driveway, the Wolf in the air , the whispers, words and dreams I dreamed of Paris after dark and swing sets in the park listening to a Skylark sing a spark to a dirge, you there in between keeping me safe in whatever way you could, hiding yourself in the contrasting shades of day and night, the way I had learned, not understanding what I was until that night. Looking at my hands, seeing my nails growing that way, watching my feet swelling, busting the shoes away until I was barefoot again, feeling the little spikes that felt like needles poking through my skin from underneath it. Thinking that I was dying, instead of being born, instead of transforming. 

Wolf.  

Teri Skultety 
2008

 



Categories: Fiction, writing