I look at the chicken
pecking the yard, know

that, if I wanted to, I
could break her neck

in seconds. I think
of my grandmother

my great grandmother
and all the women

before me who had
to break something

inside of them so others
wouldn’t. Once I sat

in front of a gray wolf,
let our gazes lock, a wolf

whose name I won’t
share because there’s

always a hunter. I could
tell you what I saw

in those eyes made me
afraid, but I’d be lying.

Sometimes, all it takes
is one soul crushing look

to realize how wrong we’ve
been. That a story is just a story.