Lady of Wild Things

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
She walks the wild places all night.

Submitted: February 21, 2008

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Submitted: February 21, 2008



The Lady of Wild Things
walks freely through the forest,
the insides of her robe
a rich sabled blue that
skies the greed of hawks
& seas the sport of seals
& sings the whiskied rue
of beetles carried upside down
into the ants’ loud feasting-hall.

The entire wild catalogue
is lamped by her sadly
serene eyes, moles and bears,
salmon and deerfly,
the furred and the finned,
the winged and hoofed.

All are welcomed into her
robe’s blue sanctum,
a hearth embroidered
by faint threads
at turns vicious and lusty
and bewildered
and aggrieved,
all of them the hue
of fading silver.

The forest is her church
and every beast
a paritioner:
She blesses them all
with enough light
to last for one day,
enough of now to
play and forage and
nurse and todder
til she rips their cord
with a reddened cry.

Mercifully she
lowers her silence
over the humble,
soothing soft
feathered chicks
still blind in their
nests, whispering
and cooing them
to sleep.

Then walks the pathless
sanctum with her
naked arms
spread wide, a
benediction which
curves the feral into
the faintest of smiles,
blessing the hunt soon
to commence, the
howls and the blood,
the feasting of night
turning slowly toward day.

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