Can I Serve You Breakfast?
Poem by H.R. Harper
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the ragged wolves return to collect what they’re owed you don’t remember why they went away – you don’t remember what was promised that day, you know, their numbers were great, and they chewed on the hem of your seamless robe tied to good news tired of sitting on a rock by the sea you only wanted a good night’s sleep to be warmed by a fire of twigs and be let alone so you struck a deal -- blessed are the outnumbered you were not multitudes they were, the beatitudes you sold were debts outstanding sitting between the wolves’ darkness and teeth -- in the dark fur that would not leave that singed itself with grief your hand, asleep grasped the ashy paw you shook to forge a new law to tether the wild to shame awe and start the universe over then open your heart for them and spill blood signed and sealed and scrambled like eggs smashed and revealed the lupine revenge satisfied in blood your blood shed was the hunger even a good idea, is only an idea now the pack escapes wolves pour out of the cut in your chest it’s for the best the brutal rule you brush against scratches against the window with willows and skin to frame the end of night you and they did love the moon -- and at dawn the sun stops the tracks in you morning wolves are cranky they are wet with your blood and howl at the luminous emptiness there’s not enough coffee for the pack, but you remember the story of loaves and fishes and how the baskets filled as long as the hungry surrounded them you pay your debts
HR Harper is a writer living in the redwoods above Santa Cruz, California. A student of meditation and kenotic traditions, he writes to understand the nature of human consciousness in a natural world humans seem to be ignoring and destroying. He began to publish in 2021.