The Beautiful Animal
By the time I recalled
that it’s also terrifying,
we’d gone too far into
the charmed woods
to return. It was then
the beautiful animal
appeared in our path:
ribs jutting, moon-fed
eyes moving from me
to you and back. If we
show none of the fear,
it may tire of waiting
for the triggering flight,
it may ask only to lie
between us and sleep,
fur warm on our skin,
breath sweet on our necks
as it dreams of slaughter,
as we dream alternately
of feeding and taming it
and of being the first
to run. The woods close
tight around us, lying
nested here like spoons
in a drawer of knives,
to see who wakes first,
and from which dream.
First
appeared in New England Review, Spring 2003
(vol. 24, no. 2).