I was raised by wolves 

And do not understand 

The proper ways to walk on two feet

Across the land here in the town.

I don’t understand the words or gestures

People make, or how they take their bread

And eat it plain, without any raw grass

Or berries.

I’ve learned not to eat the meat

They cook here in the taco trucks

Or any that they package in the store,

But I was raised on something fresh,

And realize the sacrifice, and more than that,

I came to see the holiness of the hunt.

 

But now I’m living in the city,

And I never know just what to do.

But I’ve seen you

And recognize 

The wild forest of your eyes

That locks its step right up with mine,

And shines in such a moonlit way,

And even in the broadest day,

The wilderness breathes its life through you.

Tell me, 

Might it be, that you raised by 

Wild wolves too?

-jenn