Dream Poem
Personal, Big
I was surrounded
by wolves. They gnashed their teeth.
Wickedly, they
spat.
They made sounds upon sounds
like highway, pile-up
accidents.
How they wanted to make me
into a meal.
But I stretched up tall,
to the tip of each toe,
and raised my arms
as high as small woman arms can rise,
and then my fingers seemed
to grow
and somehow, I even
stretched my knuckles,
turning into the personal,
big, magic man,
and then I barked back.
The sound was far
from perfect,
but little by little,
with fire,
each one in the pack
tore away, hind end tucked
under,
tail between the
legs, seemingly shocked,
terrified,
and
over.
Soon,
I was flat to the ground,
covered in doves.
C.A. MacConnell
