i was born on hind legs
brushed fulvous tail against coarse grain
dropped tonight’s prey at my own paws
i will take this from you
can wear its flowing
like crushed glass in fists
smear it on my whiskers
as war paint
call myself a hunter
this
is what hunger feels like
to feel the bird writhe
in my mouth
to crush that flight
with steamroller jaws
you will see me
a mess of teeth
and groan
mess of gnash
and bitter
i am gleaming under a blood moon
this
is a blood moon
and i
am no pack animal
tonight
i will pray
to no god
whose claws are not thick with mud
like mine
caked
with predatory lust
this trickery of light
does not a god make
let me wrap myself around this nighttime
start a forest fire
this burning
is not whiskey
but goes down just as jagged
like glass
in fists
you will not feel
a thing
but this howl
screams stars to the ground
they will fall at my paws
like you will
i will take this from you
and i will know
how to be sated

– Sara Trattner