It Was Never the Wolves

by Lorelei Bacht

 

Big and small, all of us at the kitchen
table, we eat roasted squirrel, oak
leaves, whatever else there is.

I do not know why we shout so much.

One morning, I found a stone deep
in the sound of the river, and have kept it
in my pocket – just in case.

If I knew what it was, do you think

that I would tell you? We have lived deep
in the woods, where we quickly began
to befriend woodpeckers, understand

why the river goes where it goes, and not
the opposite. But a man has to live,
to feed his family. And so, we hunt.

Your little children, why would I favour
them over mine? What nobility
the woodcutter, that he should live and I

die? No, no. We must remake
our bones with yours, if you venture into
the woods. It was never the wolves.

 

 

 

Lorelei Bacht (she/they) is a person, a poet, queer, multi-, living in Asia. Her work has appeared / is forthcoming in Beir Bua, Strukturriss, Abridged Magazine, Riverbed Review, Postscript, PROEM, SWWIM, After the Pause, Hecate, and others. She is also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer and on Twitter @bachtlorelei