Amanda McLeod
HOWLS
It’s deep winter
and the coyote howl
saddles up the wind
and rides this way,
spurred by hunger,
and a bitter cold
that not even his ruffled fur
can keep from his skin forever.
Nothing else makes a sound.
The deer tread on silent hoofs.
Even the moose travel so softly
it’s as if they float an inch above the earth.
A solitary rabbit
darts across world’s end
but his flight is too swift,
his hutch too near,
for any famished canine.
The coyote’s surrounded by tracks.
They can be followed
But not eaten.
We hear him at midnight,
when the dark has made everything
unknowable, inedible,
His cry is heartbreaking
but there is nothing we can do.
We have enough food and warmth for ourselves.
The first rule of survival
is selfishness.
Come morning,
the near is busy
but the distance has signed off.
Water boils for coffee.
The coyote has retreated to its den.
We feel sorry for the beast
but we cannot imagine it as a lovely creature.
It is made from the scraps of dogs.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. Latest books, Leaves On Pages, Memory Outside The Head and Guest Of Myself are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Ellipsis, Blueline and International Poetry Review. Facebook: John Grey.
Amanda McLeod is an Australian author and artist. Her work frequently explores nature and connection, and can most recently be found in EcoTheo Review and Wild Roof Journal. She loves coffee and quiet and being near rivers. Catch her on Twitter and Insta @AmandaMWrites.