She tells
a story of
a mother,
stay and go,
a mother,
ebb and flow,
a mother,
tired and young,
another
night will come
for wolves and cubs
and dads in pubs —
switch cradle and grave,
then rest and be brave.
In dreams,
it’s me and not you,
it seems.
She says:
hold me down,
I’m the wolf,
mother,
pause,
take a breath,
the baby howls,
into the woods we go,
we’ll take turns,
grandma has your eyes,
what big teeth she has,
tell her it’s not you, it’s me,
peek-a-boo,
wait for dark,
then head for home,
we’ll take turns to be the wolf.