The Moya View

The Wolf’s Interrogation

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The wolf watches and asks me questions:

can I watch you eat,

watch myself absorb into you,

play with the cancer.

 

She questions everything:

even if I want to live,

die now or die later,

although that is

unanswerable or unquestionable.

 

That is the statement

life wants, love needs

in its haste to sweep up the ashes.

It wishes to be recognized.

 

I don’t know, I think,

knowing the wolf can hear me—

life, love, everything, everyone too.

 

The answer is somewhere

on the drive to Graceland

as I stop to watch

the wolf suckle its cubs.

 

Maybe I just want a good death

that makes it hard to grieve

among the ashes of Nagasaki.

 

Life always wants the tableau,

the memento mori to remember

the repetitions.

 

Inside the wolf I can hear

my mother, grandmother, ex,

soon my father screaming,

moving, just going down, down, down….

into the silent cry of memory.

 

The wolf looks comfortable and wordless

as she listens to worlds turned to juice inside.

“It was good to know you,” she said,

as if she had known me my entire life.


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One response to “The Wolf’s Interrogation”

  1. Caroline Shank Avatar
    Caroline Shank

    Wow! “The silent cry of memory” is your most amazing line ever. This is an important poem. It channels your deepest feelings about your cancer.

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