something bleeding that doesn’t know it’s dead
There is a wolf in the forest & we see him
in our headlights. How it’s killing things in
the same way we are creating them, fast and
vicious– with too many teeth.
I say, don’t look but it’s already seen
you. Say, pretend but you already know.
Fingers gripping the wheel like control
means steady, and the illusion isn’t behind us.
There is a road and headlights and nowhere left to hide
& the wolf’s teeth snag on the carcass of its catch. The
night doesn’t stop. The ending of a life doesn’t make the
wolf’s gums any less red. Doesn’t make my voice come
back in mourning.
You say, drive & the car
moves. The wolf doesn’t.
The illusion is still there as the wolf
falls into dark & we don’t look behind us.
Amazing, you say in the same breath as monstrous
& I want to ask if they mean the same to you.
The blood stains our wheels & somewhere
another life is being granted. Somewhere,
someone is mourning. The road is bright in front
of us, and I don’t think about what we’ve left behind.
Say: somewhere, somewhere,
like it will make here better.
By Mary Sims
Mary is an 18-year-old aspiring poet and writer who has recently been published in Kingdoms of the Wild, Moonchild Magazine, Mooky Chick, and Anti-Heroin Chic. She is currently working towards earning her degree in English, and spends her days dreaming of writing beloved poetry and living in the mountains with her friends and family close by. Find Mary on Twitter @rhymesofblue