Wolves in the Wilderness

Wolves in the Wilderness
Once there were wolves
in the deep, feathered snow.
In quiet, ancient valleys.
In the mountains
of Mexico.
I dreamt about it long ago,
of a house
with a flaking door;
of coffee and music
and bare feet falling softly
on a sunlit floor.
Now there are places
neither of us goes,
and reasons
only he knows.
There are wolves in Montana,
stalking meadows
lush and green.
Tearing farm dogs
limb from limb
in night-time pastures
pristine.
There are wolves that live only
in our childhood memories.
Things I dare not say
in tender times like these.
Now there are places
water has ceased to flow,
seasons in which
nothing grows.
And reasons
nobody seems to know.
There are mothers
nursing babes
in cramped prairie dens.
Waiting for spring to come,
for flowers
to bloom again.
Young wolves kept in cages
for perspiring travellers
to admire.
Wolves running
from winter forests
ablaze with poacher fire.
The landscape now is grid-mapped,
quartered and signposted
throughout.
There’s no room
for their kind anymore;
the natives have been driven out.
They’re sure the earth
will recover again.
Good things will grow
from the mud.
It’s only weather,
changing through the years;
these extremes
of drought and flood.
They care not
that the ice is melting,
nor that wolves sniff cement for food
in landfill sites
in Canadian towns
where plastic and glass is chewed.
They have disappeared
from the forests
and from the deepest glens.
Wolves seeking shelter
from weapons,
demonized
by the fears of men.
I used to know the way to go,
the road seemed smooth and clear.
Now it twists and crumbles
and splits apart
with each passing year.
Now there are days
that pass too slow,
and longings only I know.
There are wolves that watch the stars
move with their muzzles
pressed to the bars.
Men and women who yearn
all their lives,
admiring only from afar.
There are wolves
seeking the wilderness
through wide concrete walls.
Changes we must
endeavour to make
if we are to survive at all.
There are wolves
seeking the wilderness
through wide concrete walls.
If I lived a thousand lifetimes,
I would want you in them all.
Powerful poetic statement. I like the way you see the wolf literally but also as a metaphor for that power, that “natural wildness” within all of us. By “wildness” I don’t mean “going crazy” but that which is true to the natural way of life. By killing, imprisoning, and driving the wolf out of its natural habitat, we reduce our own potential to see things as they are.
Great post, Louise, thank you!
Thank you so much, Paul! I so appreciate your words. You have actually helped me to understand my own poem better, and your perceptions are absolutely accurate. I felt, even after posting, as though I might have diluted the sentiments with too many verses, and have been trying to strip it down and refine it, but your comments cut to the heart of what I was getting at and made me feel miles better about this particular piece of writing. Thank you. 🙂