I dreamt
my lover gave to me a wolf’s pelt.
My first response was contentment.
Sleep-buoyed, I knew this as important.
The air was crystal, ample,
clarified clairvoyance.
Oh waking mind of stupefied error,
how was this fleshy rag significant?
I had a dream.
My lover gave to me a wolf’s pelt.
I awoke, naked, renatured, disquieted.
Into this wound, they poured grass shards,
corpus, letters, a name, a poem.
Erin Wilson‘s poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Prairie Fire, Dalhousie Review, Contemporary Verse 2, Columba, The Prairie Journal, and in Worth More Standing: Poets and Activists Pay Homage to Trees. Her first collection is At Home with Disquiet. Her latest collection, Blue, is about depression, grief and the transformative power of art. She lives in a small town on Robinson-Huron Treaty territory in Northern Ontario, the traditional lands of the Anishinabek.
