Werewolf

Ava Rose

I do think I’ll die alone. I will either 

Never find him or he will go before me.

It’s not a lack of love that’ll get me there.

He would have put on his best boots and

Walked until he fell at the pagan dog’s paws,

Shredded skin to be licked to something living.

His hands grew numb and shaky while he 

Was waiting for the morning sun to hit his face.

He got out of the desert despite the freezing evening,

Crawled like Jesus Christ, became a coyote in the night. 

Middle age never came, his vision grew blurry 

He fought a copperhead, and his teeth got long, canine sharp,

Before the silver tipped stake came for his heart.

—

Ava Rose (She/They) is a kiwi/American, Te Pātaka-o-Rākaihautū | Banks Peninsula based poet and student. While not studying, they can usually be found helping their cat pretend to go fishing. You can find their work published in bad apple, Catalyst, Fuego, Turbine|Kapohau, Mayhem, and Starling.

Featured illustration by Ilse Clementine.