The She-Wolf and the Matriarch

 

Every animal craves, at some point,

a long, cooling drink of river water,

dripping off their muzzle, the same way

tea catches in the dowager's faint moustache,

and drips off her chin hairs, embarrassing,

but dimming vision softens the image

in the mirror.

I can see the she-wolf, snout emerging from her burrow,

with the same temerity as the doughty matriarch,

peering out her doorway, each assessing the hour,

the skies, the mood of the day

in her sphere.

Two elderly beings, their time long past,

the fabric of their days now focussed on

safe passage through an increasingly

noisy and bewildering world,

hearts hollow from remembering

the names of all those they have lost. 

for Shay's Word List