Wooded, windswept, / this storm-scoured coast. / April wind whips away wet bark / into the windrow of bleached driftwood at the high tide line. / From a bony nest, / the wolf emerges / combs the beach for barnacles, dead salmon, / nudges her muzzle in eelgrass, / then plods across tide pools / and gravel bar. / Alpha female, white with age, / eyes amber, / fur matted & tangled from saltwater & wind, / she traces the tidal coast- / line with worn paws, / swims out to a cluster of seal-draped rocks, / pounces on a basking pinniped, / & gorges on warm viscera / until her muzzle is scarlet / with blood. / She carries the entrails to the forest’s foggy edge, / weaves between towering Sitka spruce & cedar, / past fracking fields & oil specters, / until she reaches a mossy cave, / mouth dark, agape like a blue whale / welcoming a swarm / of krill into its belly.
SARAH ESCUE is a poet, visual artist, and editor in Boulder, Colorado. Her poems and artwork appear or are forthcoming in Gulf Stream, Dialogist, After the Pause, DIAGRAM, Tooth n Nail, So To Speak, Hermeneutic Chaos Journal, among others. Her first chapbook Bruised Gospel is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press in 2017. You can visit her website at sarahescue.com.