|I seek my feral self, my wolf
banished, run off long ago
by shotgun blasts of 'normalcy.'
Lupa's not gone too far, I hope!
I miss her like a limb torn from
its socket, like food or like breath.
Hiding in some dark recess, she
waits for moondark, slides past
sentinels, survives to howl again.
I have grown pale and timid, afraid
to own my anima. Yet, memories of
free-ranging, gulping and tearing at life
Exulting in my skills, my strength
needing no one's let or hindrance
prod this calm resignation, apathy.
In dreams I lope with the pack, in
full cry, chasing bloodlust, joy of
authenticity its own fulfillment.
I wake to sorrow that it fades away
with morning, and the roles I play.
© 1998, National Library of Poetry, "Best Poems of 1998"