WRITING MY WOLF OUT OF THE WOOD
There are days when the world stands so still and so silent
as though a foretoken of one single stand-alone
Word
such as Out or Come or Wood
this was a day like that
having walked all the way through the maze
of trunks and swaying arms
I was out of the wood
into the wind standing at its tree-line
we had been in a chamber
where everything is described
not in word but in sound
animal and wood
bark and tonk
rustle and groan
creak and whisper
now I was waiting hair and coat ruffling in the wind
there is part of you that has never been said
I see it when the heavy stale curtain rolls up
with the creak and puff of the sweaty stage-hand
and that rust-red hood that has been carrying
the disguise of your story
drops from your hair-line
onto your shoulders
secrets tumble like leaves as this happens and you appear
shed of persona like a word borne out of silence
this of you I love
Wolf! you come out of the belly of the wood
you do not disappear any more
you are not afraid of drowning
Copyright © 2020 Rebecca Brewin, all rights reserved. rebecca@handtoearth.net +44 (0) 789 693 6625 Return to top