The Bread of Wolves
The bread of wolves
burns our tongues
hot from the oven
of a howl.
The bread of wolves
is red
as an ember.
Cinders fly on a stiff wind
from eye to eye,
thigh to thigh.
Do you hear the panting of the running pack?
To make the bread,
take locoweed, bonemeal, poppyseed,
apple cores, pomegranate rinds.
Stir and add semen,
blood of menarche,
and hartshorn.
Moisten with a hard squeeze of the bitch teat
of the old moon
in the new moon’s arms.
Knead
breast of the women you have loved,
until hard and smooth and round
as nine months of mother belly.
Melt snow
in black iron
over an open fire of small wood,
for the steam must tast of rust
and wood smoke.
Float the loaves inside the kettles
for the uprising.
When all these moons are full,
thrust into hot ashes.
Bake until the bread of wolves
is red
as embers
and cinders fly from eye to eye,
thigh to thigh,
and you hear the panting
of the running pack.
Push out the loaves with a rod
of willow, oak, or iron.
Do not let cool.
The bread of wolves
should burn the tongue
hot from the oven
of a howl.
