howl

in every woman is a wolf,

a trammelled wild thing,

in every she-wolf,

a wild tenderness.

Red went into the wood

and found a wolf,

which is to say

she found herself.

she should have seen it coming---

that red cap, after all,

is the ancient badge of womanhood,

the heraldry of our power.

red cap, red rose,

all those ruby portents,

all the cross-stitched prayers on clothing,

were like the map's edge warnings:

here be dragons (or wolves)...

here you will find pain,

and dance with death,

and make new life,

and we will celebrate you for it.

the world changed,

women burned,

and wolves dwindled

with the dwindling woods.

we have been told stories

where there is no room

for a wolf within a girl,

a woman, a grandmother;

where the women are in the wolves,

consumed.

so i shouldn't have been surprised

when i asked for a rose

and you gave me a bramble.

doesn't matter---

i will find my roses in me,

there with the wolf and the memory of woods,

and all things fine and fierce and free.

i will take the thorns to heart

and make a rose-cane flute,

and play my ancient song,

i will move in moonlight,

and howl in my red dress...

and if you fear this,

you are not the wolf

for me.

i