NEW AGE WOLF
by Gaia Holmes
He’s sanded down his teeth,
given up meat
for me.
Whilst packs of his shaggy brethren
rip the bellies out of badgers
and turn rabbits inside out
he’s in the moon-lit garden
planting basil and brassica,
biting back his howls.
He’s become a birdcage on legs,
all ribs and hollow belly.
“One cannot live on flowers alone”
I say as he chews his way through
his second plate of daisies.
He’s a changed beast.
Flesh hasn’t reddened his tongue
since I brushed the oily fur
from his eyes
and rubbed compassion
into his scratchy pelt.
He loves me gently as a lamb.
At night he wears mittens in bed
to buffer his claws,
Gaffa tapes the bite behind his lips
and dreams of blood.
IMAGE: From Little Red Riding Hood by Felix Summerly (1843).
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Gaia Holmes lives in Halifax, UK. She is…
iamhyperlexic 