Wolflet
by Helen Dring
She wanted wolf cubs.
Not kittens,
not husky pups
given as infant gifts with
red bows around their scraggy necks.
No, she wanted wolf cubs.
Even when it grew to
pace the length of her hallway -
proud as men -
she could not love it.
What she wanted was a wolf -
fresh from the womb
and newly vicious.
She wanted baby tongues
rough against her face as she fed them,
not a puppy and a dog bowl.
He ripped the skin from her shoulders,
clawed imprints into her hip,
bit her lip without sympathy.
She mewed against his chest
and whispered a secret, desperate plea
for a wolf cub that would hurt the way he did.
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I was keen on this - and the sentiment of it. I did feel that maybe some of the first stanza could be pared down. Though I really liked:
What she wanted was a wolf -
fresh from the womb
and newly vicious.
However for me, it felt that:
He ripped the skin from her shoulders,
clawed imprints into her hip,
bit her lip without sympathy.
She mewed against his chest
and whispered a secret, desperate plea
for a wolf cub that would hurt the way he did.
Was the real guts of the poem.
(There was meant to be some spacing in that comment, and wasn't all meant to appear as part of your poem!)
I love the first two lines here!
thanks Beate!