Feral Days
Does it make me feral
if tooth and claw, gnaw and snarl
seem a better way to greet the world?
If I would rather
Bare my hide,
howl my appreciation to a moon
who bestows gifts on naked,
nocturnal hunters.
Catch the wind
on my feathers’ deft lift
to soar, scour,
plunge, puncture.
Ford a river,
rapids rushing past,
my teeth ready to snatch
a wet leaping feast.
Can I shake my way
out of zippers and clasps,
break free my shrieks,
roll free in mud.
Or will I be soothed home,
Back into jeans, claws
sheathed, my mouth hunting
for polite words.