Wendy Carlisle

Vixen On the Top Road

Let her begin again, the sun
a note just off the audible edge of rising,
the dog setting his ears straight. 
Let moisture gather in the corners of her
mouth until she twists her lips against
her teeth.  That other wetness,
let it come too, the one small breath
and the next.  Who says it’s more
becoming to slam the screen door
against the bloody horizon? 
Who says she can’t do a quick fox dance
the color of morning, admit it’s yearning
that makes her human, even if
later she has to turn away?

Book of Common Prayer
by Nancy Dunaway