- Sarah Cruz
Creature of Habit
I celebrate survival.
In uncharted woods this truth is my Bible.
I savor the seconds my heart shakes in its cradle,
telling me to run without even thinking.
I love my naivety.
Soft like rabbit fur my body acts upon instinct.
Wishing to stay hidden,
my desires ask to be emptied.
Buried in snow beds
where I learned to blend in.
Strange how my mouth moves when I hear the wolf cry
his same old rhyme at the moon.
In whispers I lie—declaring I'm the wolf too.
High strung, a summer seed
once young, caught up
in the winter weeds, repeating pleas
of wolves twice my age.
Growing dazed, missing days
of when my body could innocently operate.
But I love my gait,
nightly prowl, I rejoice in a yappy howl.
Hear the sound of the hare
who found herself a predator.