Another poem from another life. The only things that remain of the original are the form–a Petrarchan sonnet, and the title. I don’t know why they stuck around, but they did.
This is a response to so many news clips, articles, social media stories and attacks, and so much more that have emerged ever increasingly over the past few years. I have too much that I want to express about it, so I balled it up into a poem. I think I kept the title because when reading about rain dance ceremonies, they always seemed like last ditch efforts and calls to action. As our country divides around various issues, this is one I’m passionate about and believe needs all the voices behind it possible.
The last of the wolves hovers over you.
Heaving and pressing, his breath a foul steam,
This was never part of any girl’s dream.
His teeth drip fear while you fight like it is new.
His howl echoes in time, turns the screw.
Tears easily drown your silent scream.
You are a desert. He swells to a bulging seam.
Your mute sisters mouth, “But it’s true.”
He rises from his kill, exposing his tender part.
A lioness learns early how to excise a heart.
It takes but a single slice to regain your crown.
You were never that easy to take down.
Stand, before he reaches your little one.
Show him this is an evil he can’t outrun.