Red Wolf Games

Wolf Conservation Center

Because the chain-link fence,
because to bow, front legs outstretched,
tail waving like a fern frond,
is an invitation
in a language evolved in nerves and tendons,
bone and brain,
millennia before we made wolves into dogs.

Because to run, leap, and skid in leaves
makes a satisfying thump and rustle.

Because Smokey does, I do.

Because this is a game
and the wild side of the fence is his,
the tame, mine.

*

Because this wolf bounces forward, I jump back;
because he bounces back, I jump forward,
half-crouched. Because one day
he leaps to where I pause
and roots in the leaves and looks at me,

I look straight back and claw up
bitter oak, burnt-sugar maple
even I can smell,

and we are off again, bounding
toward each other and away
until I am breathless
but keep playing
because he could do this all afternoon.
Because I have mirror neurons,
and what’s a little leaf-litter under the nails?

*

Because another day his mate watches,
half-hidden among the trees,
then finally joins in, her charges sudden,
head low in a display more serious than sprightly,
I jump back, dismayed.

Because no game is ever just play.

*

Because Smokey meets me half-way then pauses
to let their leggy pups take a turn,
they dash in and spin,
brushing chain-link,

until their mother shoos them
with shoulder and growl,
and then they circle, waiting
for her to look away,

today we’re playing Mother, may I?

*

Because spring in the muscles and in the air
sends my friend shooting straight up
and he lands toothily panting,
and it feels so good he jumps again,

I hop once, twice, land awkwardly,
shake my head, and smile,

because sometimes animals
act on a feeling,
and sometimes we feel a certain way
because we act.