wolverine
Julie Allyn Johnson
milkweed and dame’s rocket
engulf the springtime banks
of this swollen estuary. later,
the stagnant shallows in early August
will echo belligerent cries of the jay,
the melancholy coo of dove.
an oily, thick expanse of fur
bristles in the underbrush—
a gnawing wildness
consumed by hunger—
a beast in search of sustenance.
I fear its unreachable beauty,
its unthinkable ferocity.
standing in solid defiance
on abbreviated, sinewy limbs,
the wolverine roars
its disapproval.
I strive to emulate
its elegance and grace,
all the more striking
in its famine of introspection.
commingling with river’s mist,
a blurred outline of self
shudders in isolation, timid
in its own rebelliousness.
will I ever rise up to issue
my own guttural roar?
why do I content myself
with mere everyday morsels?
how do I learn to thrive
in the glory of my own starshine?
About the Author
Julie Allyn Johnson is a sawyer’s daughter from the American Midwest whose current obsession is tackling the rough and tumble sport of quilting and the accumulation of fabric. A Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, her poetry can be found in Star*Line, The Briar Cliff Review, Phantom Kangaroo, Lyrical Iowa, Moss Piglet, Cream Scene Carnival, Coffin Bell, The Lake, Haikuniverse, Chestnut Review and other journals. Julie enjoys photography and writing daily haiku, both of which can be found on her blog, A Sawyer’s Daughter.