I remember the teeth.
Surrounding me,
wolves spat,
crashing side-to-side,
lost in riot,
colliding like highway,
pile-up accidents.
Some bodies upturned,
jaws bleeding smoke,
no more than a thrashing pack
of useless, spinning paws.
How they howled,
hoping to make me
into a meal.
But I stretched up tall,
to the tip toe,
raising my arms
as high as small,
dream arms could rise,
reaching out my strange,
new fingers,
hunting for light, color,
more, more, more,
and then, all at once,
joined by my fresh-faced
assistant – fire –
I cracked my curious knuckles,
suddenly jerking alive
like a distorted, flat comic
rising up from the page,
a newly breathing cartoon,
and my vine-like nails
became claws, shooting out
long and lipped
like playground slides.
Gut to throat, I barked back.
Although the animal sound
was far from perfect,
I watched the hungry others
slowly shrink, tearing away,
tails tucked between the legs.
Together, we settled
on dinner, soon swallowing
a pile of doves.
C.A. MacConnell
