You didn’t understand:
I wanted freedom; well didn’t I have it?
You demanded to know: Why all this beating of wings?
Not in words, but the way
you stared at the floor
and nestled the cat to show
that you were capable of affection
but withheld it from me.
To you this was a question of loyalty.
Meanwhile, I was trapped in the slow-clicking memory
of my childhood, like an old video tape:
the tick of a clock, the sound of late afternoon.
At this time of year, there is no sunset,
just the deep carve of light that slowly melts away.
I told you I was leaving, which was easier
than allowing you to love me.
At first, it felt as if the sky
had been ripped off the earth, but then
I finally sensed my own existence and I was ravenous
for the world, driven outward like a bursting sap.
For weeks, I opened all the windows before I went to bed.
How glorious: the fragments of moon,
blue air and honey sun.
All that light on my face in the morning.
When the summer edged out, I shut the windows
and left. The drive was long and the sky
was filled with rain like thick strokes of ink
I hurried down the freeway,
as if someone would be there
waiting for me. And the next thing I knew:
Wisconsin. I dashed from the car,
pretending to run for cover, but secretly
praying for more and more rain.
When wolves first meet up
they have a ritual
of smelling one other’s breath
One wolf will put his nose
to the mouth of another, asking
What have you been hunting?
The second wolf exhales
thick breath, hot with blood and sulfur
to explain, You can still smell the kill
But nothing tells this story quite as well
as a human. My father took me
hunting every autumn
Crouched down in the forest
beside him, I felt the gravity of this genre,
the deepness of its roots
extending so far beyond men.
It was the sensation of soil
working its way
into the grooves of my skin,
the crunch of detritus underfoot.
It becomes a type of language, like a prayer
In college, I would later learn some theories
which suggest that the human kiss began
as a mouth-to-mouth greeting
like that of the wolf.
I knew this immediately to be true;
my father is a wolf.
Always quick and deliberate; gutting his animal
in perfect technique. He taught me how
to split open the ribcage and reach inside—
you have to grab the heart and sever the moorings.
But still, there is a right way
and a wrong way
to kill an animal.