Growing Up in the Mouth of the Wolf
By age three, men terrified/me. I have picked up/this bone and chewed on it, gnawed/ on it. I remember being/powerless, alone/in the dark,/with men. I remember/men whispering/into my ear, it’s going to be all right. A man/holding onto all body/to keep me still./A man handed me a shotgun,/a pistol, a rifle./ Then held me down/so I wouldn’t feel the recoil,/my body blown back,/ my eyes empty/ of all but fright.//
Firearms enforce the wolf’s freedom. A boy/must learn to be/a wolf.//The wolf swallowed me. The men/of my childhood hated. They ate/with their eyes. The wolf swallowed me/ up, one bite at a time./
No. The wolf/swallowed me over/and over/again.
No. I lived/in its jaws. Let it chew/on flesh, mind. The wolf,/fear. The white/wolf. The wolf,/the father.
Father claims/he moved/his family to Virginia,/in the middle of the night,/so his children would not grow up/around a culture of killing, where killing/is the groom; it’s taken years to strip/away the fur and teeth. My father’s own/kingdom, the church, soft/cruelty. My father,/in his own way, was only removed/ from the pack, but not free/from the moon’s influence. The moon requires/blood from all wolves./I did not/ belong in my family,/but it was clear I belong/to my family, a thing to be shaped and shamed/and shamed and raised up/into what? A what? A wolf.