The Wolf in Me
What's inside of you that's itching to get out?
The wolf in me has soft eyes. Soft, wet, and all-seeing eyes that shift and glide across your landscapes, your faraways, your strongholds. This and that and yes and no. Wolf eyes that glass and glisten and narrow at the coming of a lie told by a suit straddling the bow of a faux boat. Understand. With this comes the promise of attention sharper than fangs, surprise larger than Red Riding Hood appetites, and understanding wider than an un-cocked jaw. A blink, a wink, and a roll.
Suspicion is a pigment in my eye.
The wolf in me is a patient hidden thing. Both introvert and extrovert, it shies in the noise and cries out in the quiet. A mute. A braggart. An introverted extrovert—it is the duality of the wolf. Destined to dig holes in the garden of my brain. Destined to deliver dinner to the table of my soul. Destined to wait and wait, and moment surf, and quiet riot, and bring the inappropriate snarl at your simple christening. Hide. Show. Cower. Rage.
Patience is the fur I wear.
The wolf in me howls long and strangled notes into the embrace of the darkest night. For joy. For release. For supper. This undocumented howl rises from a balled-up blanket in my heart and reaches out into the atmosphere, howling for injustice and pettiness and frustrated and meaningless actions. This is lament. This is reckoning. This is loneliness and placid love caught on a restless wind. The wolf howls at the yaw of it, the twisting anxiety in the lupine stomach—yearning to be truly known but terrified of being truly known.
Emotion is the self-inflicted bite I bear.
The wolf in me circles at the edge of the meadow, protected by the thick and forgiving forest. Stalking, pacing, resting on haunches to look across. The wolf, sniffing the air, noting the battlements, making the plan. The watch of it, the scanning of fences for holes and ways in. The wolf cannot bull-at-a-gate it. The wolf must opportunity knock. Leaping, bounding, salivating. Come out, come out, wherever you are! The wolf in me races across open spaces, wild grasses whipping at limbs and depositing ticks.
Persistence is the tail I wag.
The wolf in me is suppressed by the sheep. The comfort of the wool pulled over eyes, the fleece, wrapped around sagging shoulders. Safety comes in numbers and bleats and flocks and meadow meanders to nowhere in particular. The fleece hides the twitching flesh, the sharp claws, and the grinding teeth. The wolf in me is afraid of humans. Has been hunted to the periphery of extinction. In my angst, the wolf in me retreats to the safety of the sheep.
Fear is the mange I manage.
The wolf in me comes out—bares teeth at the moment, spits saliva with a bark, and bites wildly at the world. Claws scratch at doors, ears prick at the joy of it, and a body sings the yowl of the free. The wolf breathes in the icy air, walks towards the open fire, feels around for scraps of life, and trembles at the contact.
This wolf.
I am a Darewolf, heart hot in a shell, exploding on contact. I leap and bound from the cliffs of perception and into the open maw of the earth. It eats me in one bite.
I am a Sharewolf, taking all my good and weird and wild and wary to leave pawprints on this canvas. It is on the wall with the dot of SOLD already.
I am a Carewolf, cuddling you to the tender of me, licking at your wounds, and keeping guard against the day. It is the promise I swear to you.
Body twisting, inside to out, I will eviscerate this life to feast upon its bounty.
The wolf. The wolf. This wolf in me.
Courage is the paw I swipe.
Put away those silver bullets.
Yours in tiny thought,
Janeen
Go behind the scenes of this post
This week’s amends…
My agent said: “I don’t know why you always take the hard road?” You think I see two roads—I see one road!- Albert Brooks. Quote taken from the trailer for Defending my Life (below)
On Rotation: “I’m Not Your Dog” by Baxter Dury
I cannot wait for this. I LOVE Albert Brooks so much. Defending Your Life, Lost in America. The OG Mockumentary god with Real Life. Bring it. Me. Here. Now. (It premieres November 11 on HBO, so not quite now but it’ll be close enough to my birthday for me to consider it a gift.)
Yep. That’ll do it.
Via Swiss Miss
Shameless Podcast Plug
Listen to audio versions of early issues of The Stream on my podcast, Field of Streams, available on 👉 all major podcasting platforms 👈
Here’s Apple