cry wolf

    6
    1160

    “Forget about fairy tales,” she said
    as we entered Wolf Hollow.
    “They will make you frightened
    of the wolves,” she said, as though
    we were looking at docile dogs
    through two layers of tall fence.

    Gracie our youngest, descendant
    of the wolves I’m told, is frightened
    by the early freedom thunder
    of fireworks a couple of blocks away.
    She shakes as though she might
    wear out her skin from the inside
    and lays down on my feet

    while I’m trying to write.
    “Forget about the fireworks,” I say.
    “They are too far away to hurt you.”
    She is not convinced and flinches
    with every rocket red roar. I can’t
    fence out bombs bursting in air.

    Fear can look foolish on the face
    of another. Incredulity can incite
    insensitivity. “Be not afraid,”
    we say, like Gabriel to Mary,
    an unmarried, pregnant teenager
    who hid his words in her heart.

    Faith can look foolish, too.
    Making believe was hard work
    in the face of her fears, both real
    and imagined. It looks easy
    when we tell the story now
    because the angels are long gone.

    I can’t forget about fairy tales or fear
    anymore than I can stop making
    believe. That woman knows her wolves
    as well as Mary did her angels.
    Gracie and I can only hear the boom
    in the distance and wonder what’s next.

    6 COMMENTS

    1. “I can’t forget about fairy tales or fear
      anymore than I can stop making
      believe. “

      A nice summation of the entire poem in this one line. Your word choices and line breaks make this a powerful piece.

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