I am the Cinderella wolf
cast out by my pack.
A loner, I run wild
in a forest
of blackest black.
The northern lights above me,
a curtain of greens and purples and blues.
I run fast
I run free
a she wolf with nothing to lose.
The Huntress has lit a fire
its flames flickering between the trees.
An age-old sign of her desire:
to bring me to my knees.
Ice cold and sharp underfoot
the snow plays an important role;
Reflecting the shimmering moonlight,
a mirror to my tired soul.
Beautifully sharp and deliciously painful
with each step
of my stride.
The sound of its breaking
as far as heaven is wide.
The Huntress listens intently
as I move through the still of the night
Her rifle resting beside her,
still unable to catch me by sight.
I know I should just keep quiet,
but my voice needs to sing,
needs to fly
So against my better judgement
and I stretch
and I cry
My howl instantly gives me away
and the Huntress gets to her feet
Her rifle now at the ready
– our destinies finally meet.
But something stirs inside her;
the pain my voice has laid bare.
is a feeling she too has known of,
And something we both now must share.
So laying down her weapon,
The Huntress falls to her knees
And joins in my desperate prayer
and for peace.
A poem I read at this year’s Open Day at Drayton Park Women’s Crisis Centre. The rhythm of this poem, and the rhyming, is purposely off-set and slightly haltering, because when read out loud I wanted it to be a little like a wounded animal, limping. Apologies for the poor sound quality and background noise in the video, may post a proper sound file at a later time.
Pingback: Scaffolding | What It Takes To Be Me
I happen to have seen a recent performance of “Frankenstein” in the form of a play (that was filmed) by the National Theatre. Nothing like the old horror movies. Some of the themes are similar. The sadness is immense.