ONCE A MONTH
Some witchery has happened in my past
As I was prowling swiftly through the woods,
The scent of freedom in my nose, my lungs,
My hungry stomach and my lonely soul.
That fateful evening as I fell asleep
There was no premonition and no hint
That in the morning as the sun appeared
I’d realize that I was not myself.
What were these hairless long and stumbling legs?
What were these arms that didn’t touch the ground?
What were these teeth that couldn’t maim and kill?
And this desire for a human’s touch?
Since that much-hated day I’ve lived in towns
And villages with people who do not
Suspect the origins of my unhuman self.
I eat their food, I dance around their fires,
But once a month, when skies explode the moon,
And when my past is screaming in my face,
My every tooth becomes a canine knife;
I’m on all fours, I flee towards the woods…
The morning comes, and being back in this
Forever weak, forever naked flesh
Is worth the taste of fresh delicious blood
Upon my chops, if only once a month.
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