I feared I was a werewolf | Jericho Hockett

Image: Markus Gjengaar
failed,                                     feral at best,	
stuck between               phases of moon,
my body out                of sync with time
I was                                  promised bliss
with one bite,                        but still I lie	

abed in honey               phlox, sleepless, 
joints aching                   to be shredded,
skin to burst                      as March ides	
march on to                  May’s full flower 
moon and past.                           I passed

for human,                   despite my howl,
the blood                                         curse,
even growling,                    lacking only
fur, claws, sharp            teeth. Reserved
in every form          except of judgment

for what I thought                a werewolf 
ought to be:                    a wound at best. 	
But the worst                        feature was 
my abject desire                   to preserve 	
human remains.                   Until I met

my werewolf’s ghost        carrying scent 
fresh human flesh     on spring breezes,	
in gradual degrees                 shifting my
dimensions                    under all moons,
full,                                                       dark.

Jericho Hockett‘s roots are in the farm in Kansas, and she is blooming in Topeka with Eddy and Evelynn. She earned her Ph.D. in Social Psychology at Kansas State University, but is a forever student. She is also a poet, teacher, and especially a seeker who is most whole in the green–whether in garden, field, forest, or heart. Her poems appear in Burning House Press, Snakeroot: A Midwest Resistance ‘Zine, Ichabods Speak Out: Poems in the Age of Me, Too, SageWoman, Heartland! Poetry of Love, Resistance, and Solidarity, and Touchstone, with more works always brewing.

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This poem is from the Thought For Food anthology,
a poetry collection benefiting Denver Food Rescue.
You can purchase a copy of the book here.

Thought For Food Promotional 1

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