We will always be babes, there will always be woods.
A few emboldened wolves will come out of them—
cringe back in, licking their snapped legs, stumped.
Others will bubble in boiling water, thoroughly
run out of breath. Some we’ll hang as warnings,
watch the scavenging of fur and eyeballs
in beaks and small meaty claws, scritching
away through the ivy, through
the briar-woven barbed wire.
Glisten with pleasure, my darling,
Sigh for me while buds of ambering sap
be-angel your skin under my fingertips.
Then rise and set the cloth.
I will fetch kindling, and tear out pages
for another fire. No word or living thing
will come between us. They told us
love is always patient, always kind.
This is love.
About this Poem
Chantel Lavoie is a professor in the Department of English at Royal Military College. She has one poetry collection: Where the Terror Lies (2012).