Bitch Instinct

Before this day I loved

like an animal loves a human,

with no way to articulate

how my bones felt in bed

or how a telephone felt so strange

in my paw. O papa—

I called out to no one—

but no one understood. I didn’t

even. I wanted to be caught. Like

let me walk beside you on my favorite leash,

let my hair grow long and wild

so you can comb it in the off-hours,

be tender to me. Also let me eat

the meals you do not finish

so I can acclimate, climb into

the way you claim this world.

Once, I followed married men:

eager for shelter, my fur

curled, my lust

freshly showered.

I called out, Grief.

They heard, Beauty.                      

I called out, Why?

They said, Because I can and will.

One smile could sustain me for a week.

I was that hungry. Lithe and giddy,        

my skin carried the ether of a so-so

self-esteem. I felt fine. I was

fine, but I was also looking

for scraps; I wanted them all to pet me.

You think because I am a woman,

I cannot call myself a dog?

Look at my sweet canine mind,

my long, black tongue. I know

what I’m doing. When you’re with

the wrong person, you start barking.

But with you, I am looking out

this car window with a heightened sense

I’ve always owned. Oh every animal

knows when something is wrong.

Of this sweet, tender feeling, I was wrong,

and I was right, and I was wrong.