Wolf Lichen
José A. Alcántara
| poetry
I don’t know how you got your name,
little green ball of fuzz,
but I like imagining you
howling at the moon
as you cling to the trunk
of a giant sequoia.
How you might let go,
drop to the ground and lope
through the understory
for a midnight prowl.
If you want, you may
have my throat.
Go ahead. Rip and tear.
Eviscerate.
Drain my blood.
Small recompense
for the chainsaw, the clearcut,
your ancient home
now a sundeck,
dance floor, bowling alley.
José A. Alcántara is the author of The Bitten World. His poetry has appeared in American Life in Poetry, Ploughshares, Bennington Review, Rattle, Poetry Northwest, and The Slowdown. José lives in Western Colorado and wherever he happens to pitch his tent.