the wild ones / by Megan Hollingsworth

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Where do we belong, the wild ones
entrusted to God?


The wild ones, who do not know fences
because God does not build fences


The ones who read light, dark, movement, sound

temperature and scent to find our way
through the forest

Where do we belong
when the forest is gone?

The wild ones who are out of our skin
with the torment of waste and rape, ravaged
by crying babies and screaming mothers beaten,
bombed and abandoned

Where do we sleep but in the alley?
Where do we eat but from the waste?

We, vultures in the wake, whom God has chosen
to digest the decay, where do we belong
when everything but us is clean
on the surface?

Where do we belong, the wild ones
who live honestly without question
and who but God feeds us by hand?

written during a month's witness with wolf April 2014