by Theodora Goss
Lady, I will be grateful
even in the jaws of the wolf,
even as his teeth sink into my shoulder,
even as I hear the crunch of bone.
Even as I look up at the stars and realize
how alone we all are — our solitude
is our commonality. Even as the moon
seems to mock me
for having gotten into such a predicament.
Even as the entire firmament
is filled with laughter
that I once believed in happily-ever-after
or that wolves could be defeated,
with their sharp claws, red eyes.
I will, even, laugh a little at myself
and be grateful
because, after all, he is your wolf.
(The illustration is by Arthur Rackham.)