Self-Portrait as Beast
       

I put on my face. This one is wolfish,
          covered in whorls of black and gray fur.
My whiskers flex and fall; I comb them

          with my nails. My teeth are broken in places.
                    Depending on the light, I am glossy
or made of shadows. When I walk, my skin,

loose, follows with a slight delay. What did I wear
          when we were new? Must have been the curly
one, lambish. Later, I was the blind ostrich,

          my face a sad block, all eye and beak, hiding
                    in the sand. I chew my paws and pace
the bedroom. My fur is furrowed and sweaty.

I pant. I pant and growl softly, bare my teeth
          at you on your way out. I heard everything,
do you believe it? The uneasy feeling

          of a stranger by your side. Turn around;
                    I am the stranger. Go on, run away now,
run away on your dainty little hooves.

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Copyright © 2014 Frances Justine Post All rights reserved
from Beast
Augury Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission