Poetry By Elisabeth Crago

Will Fisher CC




Like a Wolf
             After Yona Harvey

When he bursts through the screen door.  Like a confession.  He has to get it out before he
chokes.  When he seems burdened.  When he seems to have the shit scared out of him.  

He is red-faced.  Panting.  Eyes wide.  Sweat slicks his shirt.  Sticks to his back.  A wet wolf. 
Without his pack.

Not a prison.  Temporary confinement.  Somone listening.  Him unburdening.  He is blanched
By silence.  What color is guilt?  Regret? Could it be prayer?  He never confessed to praying. 

We are holding onto before.  As if our hands control the clock.  As if he is a pup.  As if our arms
pull him back into this pack.  All that yearning.  Who wants to unspool a life?  To unknow?

He is running from, toward.  A torn heart.  An ancestor’s grip.  When did it start?  A dog lost.  A
grandfather dead.  He is ragged.  Eyes wide. Rabid.  The bottle empty in the desk drawer.   

He growls, licks sore paws. How do we turn away? turn toward?  We speak another language.  
He seems burdened.  Wanting to belong.  Now and then a smile, a wink.  Whisper.  Song lyric.

A prayer.  Blood that mingles, yokes us. Is the body a prayer?  He swallows, pride, coughs
​annoyance. Wet fur, sweat.  Before it dries.  Breathe in his scent.

​


Elisabeth Crago holds degrees in English, nursing and an MFA in poetry. She lives in Pittsburgh and is active in Carlow University’s Madwomen in the Attic program Her work has appeared in Dreamer’s Creative Writing, OneArt, Dolomite Review, Zest of the Lemon, Shot Glass Journal, and the anthologies Dionne’s Story, Vol IV; 20, Carlow University MFA Anthology; and Love is for All of Us.
​