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People like to think there was something sexy
about the wolf.
There wasn't.
It was a wolf and I was nine
and wouldn't have known what to do with a sexy wolf
anyway.
The sexiest thing in the woods that day
was Grandma,
who sometimes still goes dancing
with the widower cobbler from the village,
now that those elves do all the work.
Even if he was a smoldering pillar of manhood
(or wolfhood)
how would that have helped?
It's not like he seduced us into his stomach.
Not like he batted his eyes
and showed some chest
and told us how beautiful we were
as we crawled into his belly.
Sexy wolf? Ridiculous.
Here's the truth:
He was a wolf, big with big full eyes
and big ears and big sharp teeth.
His paws were big enough to knock you senseless
with one blow,
his appetite and his jaws big enough
to swallow you whole.
His stomach was big enough to fit two people.
Being eaten was fast and it was hot and it was wet
and it was over before I even knew what was happening.
Being pulled out by the woodsman was like being born,
like fireworks and waves on the beach
and a gasp of air when you've been holding your breath.
What's sexy about that?
And if I have grown up to become a wolf hunter,
a leather- and wolf skin-wearing hellion,
it seemed only natural,
and what I do with my wolves
is my business.
Megan Engelhardt has previously been published in the Silver Boomer books anthology, From the Porch Swing.
Image: Jessie Willcox Smith
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2 comments:
i LOVE this!! I was going to try to pick out my favourite lines, but that's impossible! I like them all! :)
That's great. I always enjoy those "What would it really have been like?" retellings. This one's a good one - not too gruesome, but with plenty of realism!
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